


how they toss the dice

by rutherbird



Category: Wiedźmin | The Witcher - All Media Types, Wiedźmin | The Witcher Series - Andrzej Sapkowski
Genre: Arranged Marriage, Canon-Typical Violence, Eventual Smut, F/M, Implied/Referenced Incest, Political Expediency, Romance
Language: English
Status: Completed
Published: 2020-05-13
Updated: 2020-06-24
Packaged: 2021-03-03 03:55:35
Rating: Mature
Warnings: No Archive Warnings Apply
Chapters: 11
Words: 50,895
Publisher: archiveofourown.org
Story URL: https://archiveofourown.org/works/24168448
Author URL: https://archiveofourown.org/users/rutherbird/pseuds/rutherbird
Summary: The kingdoms of Cintra and Nilfgaard have reached a stalemate. Soldiers have been withdrawn from the battlefields and told to return home.When Queen Calanthe of Cintra returns back to her throne she proposes unity by marriage.  Emperor Calveit, newly appointed and with no interest in carrying on the wars his predecessor started, agrees to the union. However, he has no heir and in place will send one of his lord’s sons for Princess Cirilla to marry.Cirilla isn’t thrilled with the decision to say the least. Her Royal Highness is somehow even more displeased when she meets her intended, Cahir Mawr Dyffryn aep Ceallach.
Relationships: Cahir Mawr Dyffryn aep Ceallach/Cirilla Fiona Elen Riannon
Comments: 44
Kudos: 50





	1. Chapter 1

**Author's Note:**

> This idea came into my head a couple of nights ago and I just had to type it out and get it outta there. 
> 
> Please be aware this is an AU, so scenarios and such will be different - if they're included at all. It may also contain various bits and pieces that I've adapted from the books and games, so be mindful of spoilers. 
> 
> The number of chapters is just a placeholder at the moment, it'll probably go up by a couple. 
> 
> I'm aiming to update every Friday (give or take) until this idea and these two get out of my head.

“We are almost at the palace courtyard, my Lord,” Kacper spoke from atop the carriage, voice full of certainty as always. Cahir didn’t reply and pulled his furs closer around his shoulders, somehow wishing they’d swallow him whole before they arrived.

He cast a quick glance at the chamberlain sitting opposite him in the lightly decorated carriage who was glancing through various pieces of paper - royal correspondence, no doubt. The news of the betrothal had spread like wildfire throughout the northern realms, so he was told. Cahir had barely been a part of the negotiations, only hearing snippets from his father or the chamberlain, but they seemed to mention everything from the gold that Queen Calanthe wished for her granddaughter’s hand, to her insistence that Cahir would only be allowed to bring one servant with him to the Cintran court.  
  
_His bride, his wife._ The granddaughter of the Lioness of Cintra. He wonders what Cirilla will be like. Kacper had mentioned before they set off that she was a great beauty. Cahir had simply scoffed at the driver. He had found the statement slightly ridiculous - of course, most women were great beauties in the eyes of men. His curiosity came in the form of a less superficial nature, instead he wonders about what kind of person she will be - quiet, caring and soft like Princess Pavetta? Or more in line with the ideals of a Grandmother known to be cocksure?  
  
“This is your last chance,” the chamberlain begins, not lifting his eyes off the sheet of paper in front of him. “To throw yourself out of the carriage and make a run for it.”  
  
He thinks of his sisters and his younger brother, who have largely never known a life outside of war. He thinks of his mother who he has not seen in almost a year as he had been on the front lines of the battlefields. Cahir also spares a thought for his father, who told him he would bring shame on the family if he refused the offer.  
  
“I’ve made a promise to Queen Calanthe that I intend to keep.”  
  
“So it shall be then, Cahir.” The chamberlain replies and Cahir realises he had not had the courtesy to ask the man his name before the journey.   
  
“You sound more fearful than I.”  
  
“You have a kind heart, boy,” he replies. “I fear that Queen Calanthe may see it as a weakness. A woman like her devours boys like you for breakfast.”  
  
Cahir swallows thickly and foolishly takes a glance out of the small window as the carriage grinds to a slow halt. “Fuck--” He turns fully in the direction of his chamberlain but is cut off by the carriage door opening with a light creak.  
  
“My lord.” The Cintran guardsman greets, gesturing with his spare hand for him to step out.  
  
Cahir glanced once again at the chamberlain who had now tucked away the papers he had been reading for almost the entire journey and simply raised an eyebrow at him. With a shaky breath, Cahir steps out.  
  
The gravel of the courtyard crunches under the weight of his feet as they move forward with a mind of their own. He squints up at the Cintran palace and bristles at the sight of his new home. This was to be his new life. There isn’t much to see in the courtyard - it is drab, full of stone walls and not much else. Cahir thinks that perhaps it is his longing for Darn Dyffra that makes the walls appear so grey.  
  
The courtyard itself isn’t very large and Cahir drags his steps as much as he can the closer he gets to the two figures waiting at the large wooden doors.  
  
“Your Majesties,” he begins, tongue darting out to wet his now dry lips before he lowers himself into a traditional bow from the neck, as his father had taught him when he was a young boy. “It’s an honour to be welcomed into your home.” Cahir keeps his eyes pinned to the floor for as long as considered respectable and lifts them slowly before the respect turns into insolence. His gaze meets Calanthe’s own quickly and he so wishes it hadn’t.  
  
“It is our pleasure, _Ser_ ,” The Queen exaggerates, a smirk playing slyly at the corners of her mouth and it is then that Cahir understands that you may never be fully prepared for a battle with a lion when you are simply a boy. “Your belongings arrived a day or two before you. Eist did you the courtesy of having someone take them to your room.”  
  
Cahir nods in Eist’s direction as a silent thank you and feels a small, nervous heat rising to his cheeks. From the corner of his eye, Calanthe looks him up and down, as if assessing whether he was perfect or inadequate for her granddaughter’s hand. Cahir hoped it was the former.  
  
“There will be a feast tomorrow - an engagement feast, so to speak. To celebrate the union.” Eist declares, expression indifferent. “We’ll make better acquaintances with each other then.”  
  
Cahir agrees, as if he had a choice with a nod and bows once again as the Queen and King depart, carrying secretive whispers in the wind as they lean their heads close to each other, cloaks trailing behind on the gravel.  
  
_If only Aillil were still alive, he would be in this lion’s den instead of me._ Cahir lets out a breath he didn’t realise he was holding, watching as the air blows from his mouth into the winter evening. He feels a tight grasp on his shoulder and looks over it, met with a sympathetic smile from the chamberlain. 

“Montgomery, boy.” He says and the puzzled look Cahir gives him must make him aware to give clarity. “My name. Montgomery. You never asked and, well - you need a friend.”  
  
Cahir exhales once again, however this time it comes out as a small, shaky laugh. “Thank you.”  
  
Montgomery nods and gestures with his hand for Cahir to head inside of the wooden doors. 

He steps foot inside and pulls his gloves off his hands, handing them to a young maid who was waiting with outstretched hands. He mutters a small thank you with an even smaller smile and decides to keep the cloak on for now. The fur surrounding the hood made for a good place to hide in an emergency.  
  
The initial room of the castle was somewhat welcoming, unlike the cold reception of its owners. There was a fire burning in the right corner of the large room with various seats surrounding it. The left corner of the room led to a long hallway which had various other doors littered along it. In the centre of the room was a large staircase which, after a small incline, reached off into two different directions. Beneath the sections of the staircase lie two small walls, both lined with books. Cahir had to fight the urge to go and browse over them.  
  
He cast a glance to Montgomery who was promptly following the maid from earlier to go and learn where their rooms had been allocated. Cahir, now left to his own devices, gazed up at the chandelier hanging from the ceiling. _Impressive craftsmanship._  
  
“So you are to be my husband?” A new voice calls out and Cahir turns toward the sound. He is met with perhaps the most loveliest sight he’s ever seen. Princess Cirilla stands, hand leaning against one of the pillars of the staircase. The glow of the candles from the chandelier highlight her features and Cahir’s breath momentarily catches in his throat. Despite his attempts, he couldn’t stop staring as his mind screams at him to blink.  
  
The Princess was dressed in a deep green velvet gown, the colour highlighting the impossibility of her emerald eyes, glowing brightly even in the dim light. Her ashen hair was hanging in a loose braid, going mid-way down her back. Slowly, she made her descent down the staircase, hand trailing down the banister. Cahir’s gaze flickered to her hand and the long, slender fingers she possessed. _Stop it._  
  
“Y-Yes, Your Highness,” he stutters, like a fool. “I’m Ca--”  
  
“I know who you are,” she interrupts and he thinks he is even more foolish. Of course she knows, she’s probably hated him from the second she heard his name. “A Nilfgaardian.”  
  
Cahir opens his mouth to protest, to defend his true heritage but understands that arguing with the Princess would be futile at this particular time. It’s at that moment he realises Cirilla has made it down the staircase and she begins to slowly circle him. He is unsure as to whether she’s assessing how he looks or if she is about to make him her prey.  
  
“I know you don’t wish to marry me, Princess.”  
  
“You’re correct. I don’t.” She retorts, stopping at his side causing him to turn to face her once again. Cahir notices a small smattering of freckles across her nose and feels his stomach twist into a tight knot.  
  
“Perhaps, we may spend some t-time together on the morrow?” Cahir clasps his hands together, fiddling with his fingers as heat rises once again on his cheeks. He prays she doesn’t notice and hesitantly meets her gaze. “It would be nice to spend time together before the feast in the evening…” His voice trails off as he notices the small glimmer of anger in her emerald eyes bubble to the surface - or was it something else?  
  
Without any prior warning, Cirilla chuckled, to herself mostly as she grasped the skirt of her dress tightly and brought her heeled foot down on his booted one, causing him to yell out in a small outburst of pain.  
  
“By the Great Sun, what did you do that for?!” His voice is strained when it comes out, his accent more pronounced than it normally would be.  
  
“I felt like it,” she shrugs her shoulders nonchalantly and Cahir notices a small, sly smile playing on her lips. His face heats up again and he isn’t quite sure whether it’s embarrassment, anger or perhaps because he’d examined her lips _too_ closely. “I’ll meet you in the kitchens. Tomorrow. At ten. Don’t be late.”  
  
Cahir doesn’t have time to agree or disagree as Cirilla turns her head, nose in the air and heads off in the direction of the long corridor. He leans on one of the pillars in the room, and brings his foot into his hands, massaging it slightly through the boot and wincing when he grabs the area where Her Royal Highness’ heel collided with it. As far as first meetings go, he thinks it could have been far worse.  
  
“What happened?” Montgomery inquires, his footsteps echoing in the room.  
  
“I met the Princess!” Cahir exclaims as he limps over to Montgomery who puts a supportive arm around his waist despite the furrowed brow at Cahir’s brief outburst.  
  
“And? Did it go as well as you expected?”  
  
“Better, my friend.” Cahir smiles at his chamberlain who looks at him like he’s beginning to lose his mind already. “Anything less than a beheading is better than I expected.”  
  
Montgomery chuckles, patting Cahir’s back as he leads him up the stairway and to his new room, in the castle that he still wasn’t sure would be his prison, grave, or maybe - a new home.


	2. Chapter 2

A maid comes to wake him at eight. She knocks politely on the door before entering to find him already awake, pacing like a mad man at the window which overlooks the courtyard. They both spend around ten minutes apologising to one another before the maid explains she will put together a bath for him in the next room.  
  
The warm water is welcome, his body aching from the numerous journeys he had taken the past several days. The water splashes around him as he leans forward, thumb running over the newly shining bruise on his foot. Only day two and he had already gained a battle wound. Father would be proud.  
  
Cahir soaks himself in the warm water until it turns cold and it’s only then he forces himself to get out and dressed. His trunk of clothes lies at the foot of his bed, the only fabrics in it all coloured the standard Nilfgaardian black with hints of gold and white scattered here and there. In the end, he settles for simple black breeches and an equally simple white shirt, adding an unbuttoned black doublet with gold trim around the sleeves for warmth.  
  
He plucks up the courage to exit his room with ten minutes left before he is to meet Cirilla. He makes his way down the stairwell, nodding in greeting at the servants who wish him a good morning. At least they seemed polite enough. It’s easy enough to smell his way to the kitchens, the aroma of fresh bread wafting through a small crack in the wooden door. He gently presses it open with a hand to find Cirilla already sitting at the small wooden table in there.  
  
“Excellent!” she exclaims, standing up from the table and quickly dusting a few crumbs from her legs. “You’re here. I’m glad to find your punctuality is proper.”  
  
Cahir swallows thickly, trying to think of what to say. Cirilla had swapped the dress she wore the night before for light brown breeches and a white blouse with riding boots reaching to her knee, her hair captured in a messy bun. He thinks she looks more ethereal like this than when she was confined to a corset. 

“Yes.” He manages, swallowing once again but quickly in order to not look as much of a bumbling fool as he feels. “I wouldn’t want to let you down, Princess.”  
  
Perhaps it is wishful thinking but for a second, he swears she almost lets herself smile.  
  
“We should be going.” 

“If you don’t mind me inquiring, where exactly are we going?”

“Horse riding, of course!” She chirps and though he is happy to see this kind of side to her, his stomach does growl in a small protest. He hadn’t eaten anything the night prior and beyond that, he cannot remember when he last digested something warm.  
  
“I’ve not had the chance to eat anything yet.” Cahir murmurs met with an eye roll from Cirilla who hands him a piece of warm bread topped with a blackberry jam. Their fingers touch as he takes the bread from her hand and Cahir feels like a pathetic boy, swooning over a crush he had seen once from afar.  
  
“Thank you.”  
  
“You’re welcome,” She replies, this time smiling ever so slightly at him. Cahir blushes, like a fool and hopes she doesn’t notice. “Try not to spill any preserve on your shirt.” Cirilla points out as he takes a large bite, as if he’d not been fed in a month before she turns on her heel and exits through the back door of the kitchen. He takes it upon himself to follow her footsteps, like a lost puppy, out into the courtyard.  
  
Cirilla doesn’t seem too bothered by the mid morning frost and he tries to hide that he feels its bite to no avail.  
  
“Princess, you do realise I’ve not had the chance to gather a horse yet?”  
  
“I did you the favour of having our quartermaster pick one out for you,” she replies quickly, glancing over her shoulder at him for the briefest of seconds as she heads to the corner of the courtyard where there are two horses waiting. “I hope you don’t mind.”  
  
“Of course not. Thank you.”  
  
Cirilla nods at him politely, a small smile on her lips though he couldn’t tell whether it was his politeness or she was simply happy to be reunited with her horse. Cahir couldn’t blame her, however - the horse was a beauty.  
  
“Kelpie, meet the Nilfgaardian. Nilfgaardian, this is Kelpie.”  
  
Cahir chuckles to himself at the mare’s name and holds his hand out to the horse, clicking his tongue to get her attention. Kelpie sniffs his hand cautiously before bowing her head, allowing him to stroke along her forehead. “Hello, girl.” He whispers to the horse, looking over to Cirilla who is openly smiling, running her hands gently through Kelpie’s mane. 

“I didn’t take you for a horse person.” She remarks, arching a brow which he only just sees over the top of Kelpie.  
  
Cahir shrugs at her, smiling too. “I had a sort of obsession with them when I was younger. I had a wooden horse to go with my wooden sword and fancied myself a knight of sorts. However, the obsession didn’t last very long after I got thrown off my first pony.” 

Cirilla snorts in the most unladylike manner he’s ever witnessed. “I would have loved to have seen that, Nilfgaardian.”  
  
Cahir rolls his eyes at the princess as he moves over to the other horse next to Kelpie. He repeats the process of greeting, the stallion taking a little longer before lowering his head. “Is he mine?” Cahir inquires, running a hand through his white mane and silently wishing he had remembered to put on gloves before coming out. 

“Yes. Eist helped the quartermaster pick him out for you.” Cirilla states, slowly starting to lead Kelpie from underneath the small shelter and into the courtyard. Cahir follows suit, gently grabbing the stallion’s reins who looks even more white in contrast to the drab walls. “I suggested to name him Griffin in hopes that you would get eaten by one on your journey here but, alas, the Gods are cruel.” Cirilla pauses as she pulls herself into Kelpie’s saddle, watching Cahir closely as he does the same. “Eist settled on Fenrir, in the end.”  
  
“Must you torment me endlessly, Princess?” Cahir speaks softly as they both begin a slow trot out of the courtyard’s gates and into a small section of the castle grounds. There are guards posted on either side of the gate they left and Cahir understands that the morning horse ride must be a daily occurence.  
  
“If I am not to have any choice in the matter at hand then, yes, I must.”  
  
“Do you think I had any choice? As far as I believe, neither of us did.” Cahir retorts, regretting it when Cirilla’s hand tightens on Kelpie’s reins. “But we are stuck with these decisions that have been made for us and it would not hurt to try and be friends, would it not?”  
  
“Friends?” Cirilla scoffs. “With a Nilfgaardian? Do you really believe such things could happen overnight?”  
  
“No, I don’t. People don’t change overnight, much less their opinions. I do not expect you to like me or instantly forgive the things Nilfgaard did during the wars. I am simply stating that it would not hurt to try.”  
  
Cirilla chews her bottom lip briefly before nodding. “I’ll think about being less hostile. Though, it doesn't mean _anything_ , Nilfgaardian.”  
  
“If you must know,” Cahir begins as he leans over in the saddle ever so slightly to stroke along the side of Fenrir’s head. “I’m not a Nilfgaardian. I’m from Vicovaro and we don’t class ourselves as such. And my name is Cahir, if you please, Your Royal Highness.”  
  
“There’s a difference?”  
  
“It’s complex, to say the least. Perhaps there are some history books in your library?”  
  
“I think it’s rather bold of you to assume Grandmother has any books on Nilfgaardian history.”  
  
“Why does she not?” He asks as Cirilla turns Kelpie back into the direction of the castle. He follows suit, Fenrir seemingly more than willing to go back to his hay-filled home.  
  
“As you said, it’s complex.” Cirilla turns to look over her shoulder at him, flashing a toothy grin. Cahir allows himself to smile at her, her cheekiness a sight that made his stomach somersault. 

The ride back to the palace is spent in a comfortable silence. Cahir taking in the surroundings of his new home. The palace is largely open as one could be with high walls: a small drawbridge leads out into the capital city itself and towards the back of the grounds is an area of woodland, the trees covered with a light dusting of snow. As they make their entrance back into the courtyard, Cahir takes note of a small running river just past the last section of trees.  
  
Once they arrive back to the courtyard, he hops off Fenrir giving him a small pat on his muzzle, earning a snort in reply. Cahir chuckles, already in love with the horse as he hands the reins to one of the quartermaster's stable hands.  
  
“Say, Cirilla?” He asks into the air, turning his head a few times to find where she was standing. He finds her gaze as she finishes feeding Kelpie an apple and raises both her eyebrows at him, a signal that he should continue with his question. “What will happen exactly at the feast tonight? Obviously, I’ve been to feasts before but never an engage--”  
  
“Has anyone ever told you that you babble incessantly when you’re nervous?”  
  
“Yes. My parents plenty of times.”  
  
Cirilla rolls her eyes, tongue darting over her lips before she begins. “Not a lot, I suppose. We’ll eat, drink. Grandmother is celebrating the union now only so we don’t have to after the wedding. There will be different lords and ladies of Cintra there. Some Skellige jarls as well. I don’t suppose you and I will be doing too much - none of us will, really. Grandmother usually handles everything discreetly by herself before the feasts, you see.”  
  
“I do see.” Cahir nods, clasping his hands together. “I’m quite nervous, if you don’t mind me sharing that with you.”  
  
“Really? I couldn’t tell.”  
  
“So now you have moved on from tormenting me to teasing me?” He quips, turning his gaze to her when she joins his side. She’s focusing on undoing the small clasp on her gloves, a smile on her lips - one that reaches her eyes. Cahir cannot help himself but to simply look at her. He had numerous crushes on the maids at Darn Dyffra when he was a young boy but none had ever had her striking beauty.  
  
“I have to get some enjoyment out of your company, Cahir. Do you wish me to be bored?”  
  
Cahir shakes his head, smiling as they enter back inside the palace and into its drawing room. “Is it improper of me to ask whether I may collect you before the feast tonight?”  
  
Cirilla looks up at him for what feels like the first time since she had stomped on his foot, her emerald eyes seemingly searching his own for something Cahir couldn’t fathom. “We’re to be married before Yule is finished and you’re asking me whether it is improper for you to escort me into a feast?”  
  
“Oh. I’m sorr--”  
  
"Cahir,” Cirilla chuckles, cutting him off. “There is nothing to be sorry for. You don't need to ask to escort me to a feast that you would be expected to escort me to anyway."  
  
Cahir flushes and mentally curses to himself for looking like an oaf once again. “Alright, Princess. What time should I collect you?”  
  
Cirilla remains quiet for what feels like half a century. “I think perhaps about seven? I won’t hold it against you if you’re several minutes late, though.”  
  
Cahir nods, flashing her a quick smile. “I will see you at seven, Princess.”  
  
Cirilla smiles as if to confirm and turns away to head up the staircase. “Oh! Cahir?” She turns to look at him once again from her place on the stairs and he gazes up at her, heart thumping unevenly in his chest. “I’ll get the servants to bring you something blue.”  
  
  


***  
  


Montgomery enters his bedroom, clearing his throat to gather Cahir’s attention. “My Lord?” He calls into the dimly lit main room before Cahir pops his head out of the smaller, adjacent room.  
  
“Oh, you’re here!” Cahir replies, voice exasperated. “Who told you this was my outfit for the ball?”  
  
“Princess Cirilla did, Sir. Why? Is there a problem with it?” Montgomery asks, stepping forward ever so slightly in the direction of the room Cahir had disappeared back into.  
  
“These breeches are awfully tight.”  
  
“Oh dear. Gods - Would you just come out, Sir?”  
  
Cahir sighs, taking one last look at himself in the foot length mirror he had placed in the dressing room earlier. _Ridiculous._ His doublet is the standard Nilfgaardian black with two Cintran blue patterns going down either side and repeating again on the sleeves. Underneath, he wore a white shirt that despite being buttoned as far as he could get it, still showed a little of his chest. Cahir does his utmost best to avoid making eye contact with the black leather that seemed to fit impossibly to his legs.  
  
“I look like a fool,” he says, dragging his feet into the bedroom and over to Montgomery like a petulant child. “Look at these breeches! How did Cirilla think they were a good idea?”  
  
“Don’t pout, it doesn’t suit you.” Cahir huffs and Montgomery tests his patience by doing the same back. “You look fine. You look more than fine - Cirilla has good taste.”  
  
Cahir frowns briefly for a moment before grabbing his doublet and pulling it down a little, straightening out the edges of the garment afterwards. “Do you truly think so?”  
  
“Yes, Sir.” Montgomery chuckles more to himself than anything, reaching to dust off the shoulders of the doublet before pushing a few stray dark curls out of Cahir’s eyes. “I dare say that if you weren’t to be married before Yuletide is finished there would be a decent number of Cintran ladies looking at your behind. I say with respect, of course.”  
  
“Bloody hell, Montgomery. Spare me, please.” Cahir tries his best to sound stern but his voice wobbles with the hint of laughter. He brushes his hands down his front once again, a nervous tick more than anything. “Which is the way to Cirilla’s room?”  
  
“It’s the furthest door on the left once you exit this room, Sir.” Montgomery replies, taking a moment to place a reassuring pat on Cahir’s shoulder.  
  
Cahir nods at Montgomery before taking a deep breath and leaving his room. He walks down the corridor as fast as could be considered normal, muttering words of encouragement to himself the entire time. There’s a dim light from underneath the door to Cirilla’s room, probably from several candles. Before Cahir can pluck up the courage to knock, the wooden door clicks as the light floods into the corridor. What moisture was left in Cahir’s mouth dries and he selfishly allows his eyes to take in Cirilla’s appearance.  
  
Her dress, like his own, was mainly black. However, the entire middle of her dress and the edges of the flowing sleeves were the same blue patterned fabric as the stripes on his doublet. His eyes fell to the hollow of her throat where numerous small sapphires dangled from a black velvet choker, matching with the sapphires that were attached to a small tiara weaved into her ashen hair.  
  
“Y-you look,” Cahir tries to stammer breathlessly as Cirilla’s eyes search for his, not helping the situation at hand. “You look beautiful.”  
  
“Thank you.” Cirilla curtsies, making him laugh, as if she could sense his nerves. “You look nice, Cahir. I’m glad to see I guessed your size correctly.”  
  
Cahir offers her his arm which she accepts linking her own through his, a patch of heat blossoming at her touch. “Correctly is a matter of opinion, Princess.” He states, this time making her giggle as they begin their journey to the banquet hall. Cahir believes he has never heard a sweeter sound.  
  
“Grandmother told me to tell you that during the feast, she would like you to sit beside the throne instead of me.”  
  
“Should I be concerned that the pair of you have been participating in discussions about me?”  
  
“As much as I like to rile you, Cahir, you are not in any danger from me. Grandmother, however…” Cirilla trails off and as Cahir looks down at her, he catches her turning her head in the opposite direction.  
  
“Right.” He says as one of the servants opens the door to the hall, Cahir bracing himself for all the eyes in the room to turn to them. He follows Cirilla’s example in smiling politely at the guests as one of the court stewards begins to announce their presence.  
  
“All rise for Her Royal Highness, Cirilla Fiona Elen Riannon, Heiress to the throne of Cintra, Heiress to Inis Ard Skellig and Inis An Skellig, Princess of Brugge and Duchess of Sodden.” The steward takes a deep breath and Cahir chuckles, earning an elbow jab in the side from Cirilla. “Accompanying her, Count Cahir Mawr Dyffryn aep Ceallach, heir to the Dukedom of Sodden by Princess Cirilla’s hand.”  
  
Cahir doesn’t have a chance to take in his new title, Cirilla gently pulling him towards the main table at the front of the room where the Queen and King await. Cahir feels like his face is on fire, the eyes of the Cintran and Skelliger lords and ladies staring into the side of his head. Carefully with little prompting, he bows before Calanthe and Eist as he did the day previously before following Cirilla once again, standing behind their seats at Calanthe’s left.  
  
Calanthe waits a few seconds which feel like centuries to Cahir before raising her hands and commanding in that voice of hers. “Let us dine and drink!”  
  
There are several enthusiastic cheers from over on the Skelliger tables and Cahir can’t help but grin to himself - their enthusiasm for feasts containing bread, breasts and beer was known even in Nilfgaard. He understands their enthusiasm to some degree, the feast was quite the display of wealth. There are numerous small, frilly cakes scattered about between steaming plates of hare, trout, venison meatballs stuffed with blue cheese and various pots of soup. There’s numerous pitchers of plum wine from Vicovaro scattered around all of the tables which makes Cahir smile as Cirilla fills his goblet for him.  
  
The royal family eats mainly in silence, Cahir daring not to strike up small talk with Calanthe. Eist seems more lively than the day previous, talking of adventures he had whilst he was still Jarl of Skellige. Cahir notes it must be the smell of seasalt in the air, bringing the memories of times long passed back to the forefront of his mind.  
  
“Tell me, Nilfgaardian, did you fight many battles in the war?” Calanthe’s voice cuts into the air and the room seems to quieten though Cahir knows it’s just his mind playing wicked games.  
  
“Yes, Your Majesty. I fought in most of them.”  
  
“Do you bear the scars?” She inquires, pouring some more wine into her goblet.  
  
“Yes,” Cahir begins, taking a sip of his own drink. “Though, the ones in my mind hurt more than the ones etched into my back.”  
  
“Perhaps if Nilfgaard had me on their side…” Calanthe goads, making Cahir chuckle.  
  
“You’re right. It was always clear to me that whenever we saw you on the field, we had already lost the battle.” Cahir turns to look at Calanthe for the first time since he had sat and notices her mouth up turned into its signature smirk. “You are thought of highly in Nilfgaard. I, however, doubt that surprises you. We call you Ard Rhena - it means High Queen.”  
  
“Ard Rhena does have quite a nice ring to it. Inspires fear, I hope.” Calanthe muses, finishing her goblet. Cahir doesn’t reply verbally and hopes to settle the conversation with a simple nod of his head. “Tell me, boy, did your father ever tell you how Emperor var Emreis met his end?”  
  
“Those tired of war rose up against him with Emperor Calveit’s help. Var Emreis was murdered in his sleep. A fitting way to go for a man with little honour left.”  
  
“Yes, that’s what they say…” Calanthe trails off as she watches Cahir finish off his wine, pouring him another before his glass can fully be placed back on the table. “However, myself and Emperor Calveit would tell you - if you inquired hard enough, of course, that a well emptied vial of poison into the Emperor’s favourite plum wine from Vicovaro could work wonders.”  
  
Cahir visibly pales as he pulls the goblet of wine away from his lips and back onto the table. “Is that a threat, Your Majesty?” Cahir peers up at her just as she shrugs her shoulders nonchalantly. “I don’t mind being threatened but I must remind you, I am here simply because you asked it of me. Marrying your granddaughter is a duty that you placed upon me. I didn’t ask for it.”  
  
“Being insolent now, are we?” Calanthe turns her head to face Cahir, eyes full of the first simmering flames of fury.  
  
“It’s true, Grandmother.” Cirilla’s voice chimes in and both Calanthe and Cahir turn to face her. Her expression is unreadable as she lowers her goblet to the table. “ Besides, if anyone is to poison him, I want it to be me.”  
  
Calanthe laughs, startling Cahir. Cirilla says nothing as she awaits a reply from the Lioness, though her gaze briefly flicks to Cahir’s. “Perhaps I’ve made a good match after all. Come, Cirilla. Retire for the night with me.”  
  
Calanthe stands from her throne, Cirilla doing the same. Eist stands too and Cahir copies as everyone in the room bows to Calanthe and Cirilla. As Cirilla exits, she takes a fleeting look at Cahir, making his heart swell just a little.  
  
Cahir sits in silence, watching all the other guests as he tries to understand what had just transpired. He wasn’t sure if his heart was pounding because of the conversation with Calanthe or Cirilla’s small defense. Perhaps both.  
  
“If I didn’t know any better, boy,” Eist’s voice pulls him from his thoughts and Cahir turns his head to look at the Skelliger who is pouring himself a large tankard of some ale Cahir had not seen before. “I’d say you were in love with her already.”  
  
“Would you blame me if I was?”  
  
Eist chuckles, shaking his head. “Not at all. I was once in the same position as you.”  
  
“Truly?” Cahir leans forward, closing the space between the two as best as he could with Calanthe’s throne jabbing into his side.  
  
“I proposed to Calanthe three times before she said yes. I’d never entertained the idea of marriage before but when I saw her for the first time…” Eist gestures with his hands, as if to find some impossible word.  
  
“I understand.”  
  
“I think it’s in their blood. They are impossible women, the royals of Cintra. But, persevere and you never know what you may find beneath. Do you understand me?” Eist raises a brow at Cahir as he nods in agreement.  
  
“Yes, I think I do. May I be excused?”  
  
Eist dismisses him with a wave of his hand as he brings the tankard back up to his lips, taking a hearty swig. Cahir thinks he’ll be climbing, shouting and dancing on the tables with the rest of the Skelligers once the food has been cleared from the tables. Cahir stands from the table trying to exit as swiftly and discreetly as possible from the table. Nobody was required to bow for him as he left and it is a welcome relief.  
  
“Cahir?” Eist calls as he walks past. Cahir turns slowly on his heel, fearing a telling off from the King for something he did, perhaps forgetting etiquette. “Congratulations, boy. You just won your first battle with the Lioness of Cintra. Verbal or physical, it still counts.” Eist smiles and tips his tankard into Cahir’s direction. Cahir smiles at the King and thinks to himself that perhaps, he could grow to like it within these walls after all.


	3. Chapter 3

The last two weeks had been largely spent with Cahir following in Eist’s shadow at Calanthe’s behest. It was declared important for him to begin learning what duties would be expected of him once a crown was placed on his head. Cahir had thought it pointless for the first week, putting forward an argument that Calanthe and Eist would not be dying any time soon and leaving the crown but it was shut down almost as quickly as it left his mouth by Cirilla.    
  
Cahir had selfishly tried to spend more time with the Princess in the past days, usually to no avail. However, the daily horse rides around the castle’s walls still continued whenever he had a free morning which was not often and the minutes were consumed with idle small talk. He was unsure whether she had changed her opinion of him but he never brought it up in their conversations, not wanting to push his luck.    
  
Luckily, it was one of those rare days Eist either didn’t want his presence around or had nothing to do and sent a servant earlier in the morning to inform Cahir that he was not needed. The small freedom for the day was welcomed and Cahir had decided he was going to spend the day doing something he enjoyed - after all, doing things for enjoyment would eventually be hard to come by.    
  
He was usually one of the first people into the palace kitchens, preferring to spend his early morning hours sitting on the wooden table with the cooks bustling around him, rather than eating with the rest of the palace staff. This particular morning there was only one of the maids in the kitchen who had already placed some hard boiled eggs, black pudding and fresh bread on the table.    
  
“Magda?” Cahir inquires as he enters the door, gaining the attention of the young maid who has flour splattered on her cheeks, tufts of her hair sticking to her forehead from underneath the cloth cap she wore on her head.    
  
“Yes, my Lord?” Her reply is slightly breathless as she wipes her forehead, whatever substance on the back of hands now coating her hair.    
  
“Do you think anyone will be using these fishing poles today?”   
  
“No, I don’t think so. We don’t usually catch fish this early in the week.”    
  
“Would you mind if I borrowed them?”    
  
“Not at all, my Lord,” Magda replies as she resumes her task, kneading some dough on the counter. “Why? Not thinking of making an escape and living off the land, are you?”   
  
Cahir laughs as he sits down on the wooden table, picking up some of the bread and giving it a quick coating of butter that Magda had all but thrown at the table as he sat. “If I were going to escape, I’d like to think I would have done it by now.”    
  
“Does that mean Cintra is becoming a better place in your eyes?” Magda asks, sparing a quick glance in his direction as she puts the dough she’d been kneading into the fireplace and makes her way over to the small pantry, coming back out after a few seconds with a joint of meat which she places on her working counter.    
  
“I don’t know,” Cahir shrugs as he finishes his chunk of bread, dusting the crumbs off the table and onto the floor next to him. “Perhaps my overactive imagination ran away with me at the start.”   
  
“Oh, aye?” Magda chuckles, focusing on her work. Cahir preferred it that way - too many eyes on him at once was never something he liked.    
  
“I suppose. I’d always had dreams when I was a young boy, ranging from sweet ones to nightmares.”   
  
“What happened in them?”    
  
“Different things every time. Sometimes I would be in chains in the Citadel back in Nilfgaard for some task I failed to do for var Emreis. Other times I would see myself hanging from a tree, the next I would see myself lying in a pool of blood that drips down marble stairs. Strange stuff.”    
  
“They must have been vivid for you to remember them so well - especially after all these years.”    
  
“They came flooding back during the war.”    
  
“I see…” Magda quietens leaving Cahir with his thoughts.

Dreams had plagued him since he was a boy, around the same time he’d first joined the Imperial Army and he’d more often than not ignored them. The nightmares had stuck with him all his life, always vivid and in the dreams where he died he would often wake up hurting where the wound from the dream had struck it’s final blow. The dreams had somewhat flared up again when he’d first arrived in Cintra but in the past week or so they had subsided and when he slept he was met with peace.    
  
“You’re not going to tell the Queen that I’m crazy are you, Magda?”    
  
“No,” She laughs, her back still turned. “I doubt her Majesty even knows my name, let alone cares for any gossip I have on you.”   
  
“Oh, I don’t know…” Cahir shrugs as he halves a piece of black pudding with his fingers, popping one half into his mouth and resuming his sentence mid-chew. “I’m sure she’d take any information that she could use against me, no matter who it came from.”    
  
“I don’t think she would take information from a Nilfgaardian or any man that isn’t Eist.” Magda states, making Cahir laugh once again as the door to the kitchen swings open with a small bang against the wall.    
  
“There you are!” A new voice declares and Cahir turns his head slowly to see Cirilla in the doorway, arms folded across her chest.    
  
“Y-yes? Have I done something wrong, Princess?” Cahir asks as Magda quickly bows to Cirilla and conveniently leaves to look at something in the pantry.    
  
“I’ve been looking for you for the past half hour.”    
  
“Why is something wrong? Did somebody ask for me? Eist said I wasn’t required for today and I came to get something to e--”   
  
“Cahir! Gods! Would you stop babbling and let me speak?” Cirilla huffs as she shuts the door behind her, entering the kitchen and stealing a piece of Cahir’s bread to which he holds his hands out, exasperated. “I have some good news for you.”    
  
“Oh?”    
  
“Your family will be arriving in three days time.” Ciri flashes a smile, seemingly genuine as Cahir grins at her.    
  
“Truly? You’re not tormenting me again?”    
  
“I wouldn’t torment you with matters such as these.” Ciri leans over him to pick up one of the eggs that was also on his plate. “Grandmother told me to tell you.”    
  
“But why?”    
  
“Wait, you haven’t heard the other news?” Cirilla’s voice raises by a slight pitch at the end as she places a hand over her mouth to finish chewing the stolen egg. Cahir shakes his head at her and judging by the expression Cirilla sends back to him he is truly out of the loop. “A notice was nailed up onto the Temple’s doors this morning. We’re to be married in five days.”    
  
Cahir blinks a few times as he tries to process the news, hands gripping tightly at the edges of the table. He knew the day was eventually going to come sooner rather than later but he had foolishly expected at least a week's notice.    
  
“How do you feel about it?” He manages to spit out and Cirilla shrugs her shoulders at him, her expression not revealing anything either.    
  
“It could be worse, I suppose.” She says, finishing off the egg before she continues. “I could be marrying Morvran Voorhis.”    
  
Cahir snorts. “You’ve got me there, Princess.” His lips quirks up at her and he’s met with a rare smile back. Jesting seemed to be a favourite hobby of hers and always left her in somewhat good spirits. He briefly wondered who she got that from - Eist, most likely.    
  
They dissolve into a silence as Magda enters the room briefly to put what she was working on previously into one of the brick ovens before exiting the room again through the main door. Cahir carefully pushes his plate towards Cirilla with one of his fingers, earning another slight smile from her as she picks up the half of the black pudding he’d never gotten around to eating.    
  
It’s in the quiet moments they spend together like this, or even when they are horse riding, that he finds himself admiring her. From the dusting of freckles across her nose and cheeks to the vivid light of her gaze. He wonders what lies there, in the impossible green pools - a ferocity, he is certain but sometimes he sees an undisclosed sadness. He never presses her about it, she would only stomp on his foot he’s sure but he wonders if it’s the same kind of sadness that he sometimes catches in his own eyes when he looks in a mirror.    
  
“Princess?” Cahir asks and he briefly wonders where the courage to speak up in the silence had come from. He waits for her to meet his gaze and when she does he takes a deep breath, steadying himself. “Would you like to come fishing with me?”    
  
“Fishing?” Cirilla inquires, one of her brows darting up in a manner so like Calanthe. “I don’t know how.”    
  
“I can teach you. My brother, Dheran, says I’m a wonderful teacher.”    
  
“How old is Dheran?”    
  
“He’ll be about fifteen now…” Cahir hesitantly answers and Ciri laughs, clapping her hands together in delight as she does so. He swears for a second she snorts but doesn’t inquire.    
  
“Ah, a true expert then.” She begins before giving a curt nod. “I’d like to come fishing with you.”    
  
“Brilliant!” Cahir jumps up, almost taking the table with him if Cirilla had not been sitting on it. “Should you change into better attire?” He gestures loosely with his hand at her clothing - a blouse tucked into a foot length blue skirt.    
  
“I can go fishing in a skirt if I wish it.” She mutters as she stands but not before taking the last piece of bread which reminds Cahir that the vast majority of what should have been his breakfast was now instead sitting in Cirilla’s stomach.    
  
“Alright, Princess. I mean nothing by it.”    
  
“I’m just teasing you. Again.” She laughs quietly, hitting him on the back as she does so which almost knocks him over. “So gullible.” 

Cahir simply rolls his eyes as he grabs the two poles from behind the door, briefly checking them over before turning back around to Cirilla. “Should we let someone know we’re heading out?”    
  
“No,” Cirilla dismisses his query with a wave of her hand, heading into the opposite direction of Cahir where there was another wooden door. “I sneak out quite often. This door leads into the gardens. Come.”    
  
He doesn’t say anything but smiles to himself, keeping his gaze to the floor. He had heard the rumours of Princess Cirilla’s rebellious streak but decided it was best he never brought them up in conversation with her - he did wonder if all of them were true. Eist told him the story of Hjalmar and Cirilla’s engagement which made him laugh but it seemed so far from the Cirilla he knew. She was quiet around him, reserved, even. If only she would let him truly see her, things would perhaps be different. 

The palace gardens are quite simple: there aren’t many plants decorating the stone walls and the trees that hang over are mostly bare due to the frost. There are numerous small, stone benches scattered around the gardens in alcoves of the walls for some privacy. In the centre of the gardens is a stone fountain with three tiers, the still water covered in water lillies.    
  
“These gardens are beautiful.” Cahir muses out loud. “I didn’t even know they were here.”    
  
“Nobody has shown you around?” Cirilla asks, a few steps ahead of Cahir as she leads them to her secret exit.    
  
“No. I found the kitchens by the smell and everything else I know is because I’ve been shown by you or Eist.”    
  
“That’s sad.”    
  
“Yes. Quite.” Cahir replies as they dissolve into a brief silence again. Cirilla leads them down a small passageway that is largely hidden by bouts of hanging ivy and moss. It’s not a very large passage and Cahir only just fits through as he fights to swat the ivy from his face. Cirilla stops abruptly at the end of the passage and Cahir almost collides into her back, his hand briefly resting on her waist to stop himself from crashing into her - she either doesn’t mind or doesn’t notice as he mutters an apology and steps back.    
  
There’s another wooden door as equally covered in moss and ivy as the walls that is slightly hidden. It takes a hefty push and a quick shoulder barge from Cirilla before it creaks open, Cirilla almost falling onto the woodland floor if she had not been prepared for the opening.    
  
“Surprise!” She beams, holding her arms up in the air as if she had just won a battle.    
  
“Colour me impressed, Princess.”    
  
“Shut up.” Cirilla rolls her eyes in his general direction before dusting down her skirt, the bottom already covered in mud and various other speckles of dirt. “The river is this way, correct?” She points to the right and Cahir nods as she darts off in that direction as fast as she could in her attire.    
  
Cahir speeds up his pace to keep up with her, already finding her at the bank waiting, hands on hips. He notices her hair almost looks white in the sunlight and smiles to himself like the besotted fool he is. As he approaches the spot next to her, Cirilla sends a small smile in his direction allowing his heart to thump wildly - he only hopes she couldn’t hear it. Carefully, he passes her the spare rod returning the smile.    
  
“Don’t they need bait?” She asks and Cahir shrugs.    
  
“You can improvise with twigs, rocks and other things you find on the river bank. I didn’t think to swipe any cheese from Magda.”    
  
“Cheese?!” Cirilla exclaims as she begins to kick bits of leaves around to find some decent twigs on the ground.   
  
“Yes, the smellier the better usually.” Cirilla hums at his reply as he begins his search, grabbing a small bundle of leaves from near his feet. “Worms work as well but I don’t feel like digging through mud today. We’re both dirty enough already.”    
  
“Ah, did you ever make mud pies when you were little?” Cirilla inquires as she tries to hook some twigs onto the edge of her fishing pole.    
  
“All the time.” Cahir laughs as she does too. “When my sister was still little, my brother Aillil and I tried to make her eat one. We got into so much trouble off my mother and father.” 

“Hjalmar and I made them all the time too when I spent my summers and winters in Skellige.”   
  
“You’re not going this year?”    
  
Ciri shrugs. “I was supposed to be but here you are instead. Maybe in the summer or next winter.” There is no resentment in her voice, Cahir notes.    
  
“Eist told me of your engagement there when you were younger.” Cahir begins to attach the pile of leaves he found to the hook of his rod.    
  
Oh, Gods…” Cirilla murmurs, her cheeks turning a light tinge of red and Cahir laughs heartily, quite possibly for the first time since he arrived.    
  
“I thought it was cute.”    
  
“Shut up, Nilfgaardian. I’m the one who does the teasing.” She huffs, the redness in her cheeks subsiding but there was still a small smile playing at the corner of her lip as she wiggles the rod in his direction. “Are you going to tell me what to do then?”    
  
Cahir nods and makes his way back closer to the bank of the river, briefly looking out of the corner of his eye to make sure Cirilla was following his example.

“Once you’ve hooked on your bait, you’ve got to cast the line. So, bring the rod back over your shoulder,” Cahir follows his own instructions, checking every now and then to make sure Cirilla was following them too. “Once you’ve done that, you bring it forward with a smooth motion but the trick? Use your wrist, not your elbow.”    
  
Cirilla follows his instructions perfectly and both of their makeshift baits land with a small plop in the river’s water. Cirilla’s brow is furrowed in concentration, as if she was secretly commanding the water and the fish to do her will. It seemed fitting for a lion cub, after all.    
  
“And how do I know when I have a bite? When there is a nibble?”    
  
“Usually when the rod twitches, it means the fish are nibbling and you probably won’t catch it. But if you feel a hard pull? That’s when you yank the pole and hook the fish, then you reel it in and hope you catch something.” Cahir reels his line in carefully, moving the bait slightly in the water.   
  
Silence falls over them both again and Cahir takes a moment to appreciate the surroundings he finds himself in. Cirilla’s company, no matter how quiet, was always welcomed by him. He found himself going back over what Eist had said to him two weeks ago - it seemed like months since then and truly did wonder if he had fallen in love with Cirilla that easily.  _ Fool. _ Love at first sight only existed in tales of far off lands or when it is someone’s destiny. So far, life and the destiny it seemingly had in store for him had not been all that kind.    
  
“Did you learn to fish when you were a boy? At Darn Dyffra?” Cirilla interrupts his moment of silence though he doesn’t mind, her voice music to his ears.    
  
“Yes. We had a small lake at the back of our garden and my brother taught me to fish there. Once I got older, I didn’t do it so much. But it came handy during the wars - when we were hungry, sometimes on the brink of starvation my fishing would come in rather helpful.”    
  
Cirilla nods slowly, her eyes flicking from the water back to Cahir. “What happened to your brother?”   
  
“He died. In the Nazair Rebellion.”    
  
“I’m so sorry.” Her voice comes out softer than Cahir is familiar with and for a second it startles him. He stares at her - in awe, perhaps? He wasn’t sure. It wasn’t often, in his experience, that a Northerner would show sympathy for a Nilfgaardian.    
  
“It was a while ago, I was still fairly young. But it is moments like this when my memories of him flood back.”    
  
Cahir goes quiet for a moment, looking at the water to see if there were any signs of fish. The water is mainly quiet and Cahir lets out a small sigh realising how futile the fishing idea was. There would be little caught today.    
  
“I felt the same way,” Cirilla speaks up after the moment's silence. “I used to spend a lot of time in those gardens with my parents. Mainly my mother.”    
  
Cahir looks at her just as she moves a strand of hair from blowing in her face as the breeze picks up. Part of him wants to question what had brought on this gradual crumbling of her persona but decides against it.   
  
“You don’t need to tell me, Princess.”    
  
“I want to, Cahir. Let me finish.”    
  
Cahir nods as he sits down on the bank, fishing rod in hand. Cirilla does the same, shuffling closer so they are not sat too far apart.  _ So she doesn’t scare the fish by talking so loud, probably _ .    
  
“I’m listening until you don’t want me to anymore, Cirilla.”    
  
“I don’t remember much of my mother,” Cirilla begins, clearing her throat. “I was only young when she died but I remember that she was often sad. Beautiful in every way but there was this constant cloud around her. My father never spent much time with me, he was here but not here. His mind was always elsewhere. We’d spend the spring evenings by the fountain in those gardens. But other than that, she is just a fading memory to me as the years go by.”    
  
Cahir remains silent as she talks, his gaze occasionally going back to the fishing pole before they resume their position of looking at the princess. There’s not a great deal of sadness on her face but Cahir understands as well as anyone that once you bury it deep enough, it doesn't always rise back to the surface so easily.    
  
“She drowned at sea when I was five. Along with my father.” Cirilla pauses, letting out a huff of air that causes the tendrils of her hair hanging in her face to blow up in the air before flowing back down into the same position they were. “It was when I was around nine I found out I was destined for a witcher.”    
  
“You’re a child of surprise?” Cahir can’t contain the surprise in his voice as he waits for Cirilla to nod her head as confirmation. “And what of the witcher?”    
  
“He never came back for me.” Cirilla moves her line in the water and Cahir thinks for a moment that he should reach out for her, perhaps put a hand on her shoulder and show her some comfort but he decides against, not wanting to make her uncomfortable.    
  
“Perhaps something happened to him? I heard witchers don’t often find themselves gaining happy endings.”    
  
“Maybe,” Cirilla shrugs her shoulders, “I was obsessed with becoming a witcher once I found out. I carried on like that for a while until Grandmother told me to stop being foolish and that he wasn’t going to return.”    
  
“Maybe destiny has something else in store for you.” Cahir says, his voice soft as their gazes reconnect, “I am truly sorry that he never returned for you.”    
  
“It isn’t your fault, no need to utter an apology. I just thought you should know,” She pauses, wetting her lips. “Why I can be the way I am. You’ve been here these past weeks and I’ve barely spoken a word to you.”    
  
Cahir raises his hand and shakes his head, silently telling her to leave the subject. “No matter, Princess.”    
  
“I’m not a horrible person, Cahir and I don’t want you to think of me as such. Like you said, it wouldn’t hurt to try and be friends.” Cirilla finishes her point by reeling in her line even further, focusing on the fishing for a minute.    
  
“I thought we already were friends?” Cahir raises a brow at her, nervous smile playing at the corners of his mouth, “People don’t agree to go fishing with people they don’t already view as a friend.”    
  
Cirilla laughs, mainly to herself before giving him a slight nod of her head. “You have me beat there, Nilfgaardian.” 

Cahir smiles as he looks down at the floor, scraping some leaves with the heel of his boot as he waits for something to bite. When he had first learnt of the river's existence he had expected it to be full of fish but perhaps Cintra’s waters didn’t have much luck in the winters. Nilfgaard had warmer weather all year around and where there was water, a fish could usually be found.    
  
“Gods, Cahir!” Cirilla’s voice startles him and he realises she’s stood up and he quickly does the same but remembers to pull his pole from the water, not wanting to get Magda in trouble for loaning them. “A little help would be nice!”    
  
Cahir rushes over but he hesitates for a moment before putting his hands over hers, attempting to tighten the grip on the pole. “By the Great Sun, Cirilla, what have you caught?”   
  
“I don’t know, do I!” She all but yells in his ear, voice faltering towards the end as she fails to suppress her laughter.    
  
“It’s probably a pike or maybe a catf--”   
  
“Now is not the time to recite a list of fish you know! Knowledge is good and well but I don’t want to land face first in the river!”    
  
Cahir huffs more out of effort than annoyance as he tries to hold the grip - to no avail. It is Cirilla who falls first, her head colliding with the muddy floor though she manages to not lose the actual pole, keeping her grip as the line snaps. Cahir falls on top of Cirilla, his chest pressed into her back and his face turns crimson as she flips around, their noses almost touching.    
  
“I’m  _ so _ sorry, Princess.” Cahir says, his feet fumbling around as they try to find their footing to get him up.    
  
“It’s okay,” Cirilla barely manages to say, struggling in between her bouts of giggles, “Just get up, you oaf.”    
  
Cahir joins in the laughter as he pushes himself up and offers an outstretched hand to the princess, which she gladly takes.    
  
“You have mud in your teeth.” Cahir states, dusting himself off from twigs and leaves but the mud stains didn’t look to be coming off any time soon.   
  
“I’ve had it in worse places.” Cirilla brushes herself off, the mud stains more apparent on her lighter clothing before she scrapes the mud off her front teeth. “Don’t ask, by the way.”    
  
“I wouldn’t dare, Princess.” He replies, gathering the rods back off the floor as he offers his arm to Cirilla which she takes, much to his surprise.    
  
They remain quiet back through their journey of the gardens - striking conversation was never one of Cahir’s strong suits and it seemed to him that sometimes Cirilla preferred the quietness of his company rather than the hustle and bustle of the palace. He couldn't say he blamed her very much. 

Eventually, they got back to the wooden door they left from and to their mutual relief, the kitchens were completely empty. Cirilla grabs his hand as she pulls him through the room, leaving little time for his brain to react to how nicely her hand fit in his. He all but throws the fishing rods back into the corner he found them as Cirilla drags him out of the door and makes a mental reminder to thank Magda properly tomorrow.    
  
“There you both are!” Eist’s voice echoes off the stone walls and Cahir notices Calanthe in front of him around the same time Cirilla drops his hand. 

The King and Queen make their way over to them both, mud stained and probably with leaves in their hair. Calanthe drags her eyes over the pair of them but most notably over Cahir. The Queen lets out an audible sigh before she speaks.    
  
“Do I even want to know?”    
  
“We went fishing.” Cirilla grins, her tone of voice barely disguising the hints of laughter still stuck there. Eist snorts as she says her reply and Cahir realises that’s who Cirilla got the habit from.    
  
“We’ve been looking for you for an hour.” Calanthe retorts, her tone indifferent as always. She sighs before looking at Eist who raises his eyebrows at her, giving her an unrecognisable look right back. “We were wondering if you would like to join us for dinner - both of you, that is.”    
  
Cahir opens his mouth to reply but Cirilla cuts in, “We’d love to.”    
  
Calanthe nods though her sigh doesn’t go unmissed by Cahir. The Queen gestures with her head for Cirilla to follow her which she does but not before giving a sympathetic smile to Cahir.    
  
Cahir stands in silence for a moment before beginning to turn on his heel but he’s met with Eist’s arm colliding around his shoulders. He peers up at the king, unsure whether he is being friendly or trying to strangle him.    
  
“She teach you how to play knucklebones yet?”    
  
“N-no,” Cahir stammers, slightly unnerved. Maybe that was Eist’s goal, he thinks. “I don’t even know what it is.”    
  
Eist lets out a sigh of disappointment. “I’ll teach you now before you go get cleaned up. You can impress her with it when she inevitably tries to beat you at it.”    
  
“O-okay?” He agrees and Eist slaps him on the back, almost knocking him over.    
  
“Excellent. I love knucklebones.” Eist remarks and Cahir lets out a small laugh he didn't realise he was trying to suppress, finally starting to feel his true self blooming within the palace walls.


	4. Chapter 4

Waiting in the palace courtyard made Cahir feel as if time were repeating itself. Fortunately, the sun was somewhat shining this day and the walls didn’t look as bad as he had previously thought. Despite the sun’s warm embrace, the yard was still freezing and Cahir had returned to using his furs, this one in a particular shade of green - a gift from a Cintran tailor, according to Eist.   
  
He had asked both the King and Cirilla to accompany him in meeting his family but both had declined. Eist was kinder about it, naturally, whereas Cirilla had more or less told him to stop acting like a child. Being nervous was perhaps a little bit of an understatement - Cahir had not seen his siblings and mother since he left to train and fight in the war around seven years ago. His father he had seen briefly before he was shipped out to Cintra and he had not said much, only saying what was necessary. 

His father had always been more involved in politics than he, serving var Emreis for most of the Emperor’s reign. It was only when the uprisings within the Imperial Army’s ranks became more and more apparent that his father switched allegiances to the now Emperor Calveit, something Cahir had done much earlier. Fighting on an opposing side to his father, no matter how brief, was something Cahir would carry with him always. It was his father, in the end, who had helped with bringing Emhyr’s co-conspirators to justice which helped him earn Cahir’s forgiveness in those brief days before he had set sail.   
  
The sound of hooves hitting the courtyard’s cobblestones pull him from his thoughts and he immediately clasps his hands together, trying to look as if he wasn’t going to pass out from nervousness at any given second. There are three carriages, Cahir notes, all equally decorated in various black and gold baubles. The shire horses pulling the carriages all have decorated black plumes on their heads and Cahir could almost roll his eyes at the gaudiness, the Emperor sparing no expense for his family. He suspects he will have to write a letter and tell Calveit how grateful he was for how much he had provided for his family.   
  
Cahir hesitantly takes a few steps forward as the first carriage door is pulled open by a steward he had not seen before. Two feet jump out, completely missing the step and the steward’s arm and Cahir takes note of the black skirt with gold edging as he quickens his strides to get to the carriage.   
  
“There you are, you scamp!” His sister’s voice calls out just as she collides with him, arms wrapping around his neck tightly, decorum all but forgotten about.   
  
“Brianna,” Cahir smiles, his arms going around her waist as he lifts her feet off the ground, “I’ve missed you.”   
  
“And I you.” She says into the crook of his neck, wiggling her feet as a signal to be put down which he does. “Even though you’re wearing Cintran colours now.” Brianna wrinkles her nose in mock disgust as she pulls at the fabric of his cloak, laughing when Cahir swats her hand away.   
  
Dheran exits the carriage next and Cahir cannot help but stare for a few moments at his now fully grown, younger brother. The boy he remembered was a far cry away from the young man who now stood in front of him - it was almost as if Cahir were looking at himself at that age.   
  
“Please, do not lift me off the ground.” Dheran raises his hands as he speaks, in surrender and Brianna pulls him towards them, allowing Cahir to ruffle his hand through Dheran’s hair.   
  
“Don’t pout, brother. It doesn’t suit you even after all these years.” Cahir chuckles as Dheran pushes his arm away, lips tightly drawn together as to not laugh.   
  
Brianna draws her arm around them both and as she pushes Dheran into the middle, Cahir swears he hears Dheran mutter a confession of missing him - he decides he’ll torment him about it during their lunch in a little while. 

Next out of the same carriage is Erynn who greets Cahir with a small hug, her arms only just managing to wrap around the tops of his legs. Cahir bends a little to hug her in return, pressing a gentle kiss to the top of her raven curls. She had only been three when Cahir had left so her greeting him at all was a surprise that warmed his heart.   
The first carriage rides off towards the stables, allowing the second one to pull forward. Cahir tries to hide his disappointment when it is his father who steps out first but lightens up a little when he helps his youngest sister, Feena, out of the carriage afterwards. Cahir feels a little sick upon seeing his little sister and if it had not been for Brianna’s steady hand resting on the small of his back, he fears he would have hit the cobblestones.   
  
“Hello,” Cahir whispers gently, bending his knees so he comes up to Feena’s height, “I suppose you don’t remember me. You were only just newly born when I left.” His heart sinks as his younger sister hides a little behind their father’s leg.   
  
Dheran follows Cahir’s example and holds his hand out to Feena which she takes without hesitation. “It’s only Cahir, Feena. He’s nothing to be afraid of. Apart from that haircut.” Cahir shoots Dheran a look from the corner of his eye only to be met with a small laugh from all of his sisters.   
  


“Feena, sir.” His youngest sister says quietly before curtsying like a proper lady. Cahir holds his arms out for a small hug to which she hesitantly accepts before running back to their father.   
  
“I never want any of you to bow for me.” Cahir speaks, his voice cracking slightly at first.   
  
“Not even when you are King of Cintra?” Dheran ponders and Erynn scratches her head, almost comically.   
  
“ _Never._ ” Cahir allows his voice to come out in a sterner tone. It’s always best to get in some practice, after all.   
  
“Look who is getting authoritative.” Brianna folds her arms and sends a smirk in Cahir's direction as he makes a face at her before going over to their father who pulls him into a somewhat awkward hug.   
  
“I missed you, my boy.” Ceallach murmurs into Cahir’s shoulder as he rubs his back. Cahir wishes his father had hugged him like this more often.   
  
“And I you,” Cahir pulls back from the embrace though Ceallach keeps his hands upon his son’s shoulders. “It feels like I have aged a thousand years since I last saw you.”   
  
“Yes.” His father agrees, gently patting Cahir’s shoulder before he steps back to help his wife get out of the carriage, gently giving her hand a squeeze as she takes it.   
  
Cahir all but runs over to his mother, arms wrapping around her neck as if he were a young boy again with tears threatening to spill. His mother’s embrace is just as tight as he remembers and he can feel small sobs making her body shake.   
  
“Mama, don't cry…” Cahir whispers so only she can hear, Mawr smiling as he moves from their embrace, sniffling quietly. She cups his cheeks tightly in both of her hands and Cahir can’t help but laugh and return her smile. His mother had not changed much, the edges of her hair only just starting to turn grey - if only that much could be said for his father who had been grey since as early as Cahir could remember.   
  
“I’ve missed you, Cahir.” Mawr sniffles, running the pads of her thumbs over his cheeks as she speaks. Before Cahir can reply to her, her hand runs through his mass of dark hair, ruffling it up with her hand to Cahir’s vocal disgust as he tries to escape her touch. “Look at your hair! It’s a _mess_! _You_ look like a mess too _-_ has nobody been looking after you here? They are feeding you, aren't they?”   
  
Cahir makes a swatting gesture with his hand as he steps back from Mawr, making his siblings chuckle. “Enough, Mama.”   
  
The family huddle together momentarily and Cahir finally feels some sentiment of peace here in Cintra. Despite the coldness in the air, he finally feels warm and stitched together. Brianna’s hand has been a constant at his back since her arrival and Cahir finds it hard to believe this was the same sister who had hit him so hard with a wooden sword when she found the chocolate cake was actually a mud pie that she had left him with a scar just above his right eyebrow, hidden away by his hair. He is thankful for her presence now because if her hand had not been there, he fears he would have hit the cobblestones at least three times by now.   
  
“Can we go inside now, Papa?” It is Erynn who speaks up first, almost jogging on the spot to keep herself warm.   
  
Cahir gestures with his hand for his family to head inside. Erynn and Feena both take their mother’s hands with Dheran and Brianna following. Cahir goes to follow but is met by his father clearing his throat.   
  
“Walk with me, Cahir?” It is posed as a question but Cahir is old enough to understand that it is not. The third carriage is full of various parcels, some wrapped in glittering papers, some not and they’re all a variety of sizes. Cahir’s gaze meets his father’s and he carefully raises a brow at the older man to which he shrugs. “Gifts from the Emperor, largely.”   
  
“I hope none of them are poisoned.”   
  
Ceallach doesn’t answer him and Cahir feels a hint of nervousness. “There are some gifts for both you and Cirilla from other lords and ladies,” Ceallach explains and Cahir rolls his eyes, wishing his father would stop speaking now but he knows from his younger years that would be most unlikely. “Count d’Arvy has sent various wines, the Sweers family send clothing for you - Cintran coloured, of course - expensive as well.”   
  
“Father, you know I don’t care for how expensive things are. Or gifts in general, for that matter.”   
  


“Hush, boy. The Fitz-Oesterlen family were perhaps the most happy. Though, I’m not sure that is because of the alliance or perhaps they just want to brag. I do not trust Shilard, however. Always scheming.”   
  
“The lot of you at the courts always were.”   
  
“The scheming does not stop because var Emreis is no longer on the throne, Cahir. There are things at play back in Nilfgaard.”   
  
“Are you going to enlighten me?” Cahir stops in his tracks just before the entrance. He casts a quick glance inside at the rest of their family who were waiting in the drawing room but luckily talking amongst themselves. “Did you know how Emhyr died? Answer me truthfully.”   
  
Ceallach waits for a few servants to pass with the boxes of gifts before pulling Cahir aside by his sleeve, away from the direct entrance. “Yes,” He begins, holding his hand to silence Cahir's protests so he may continue. “It was something you had to find out for yourself.”   
  
“For myself?! Father, this is insane. If any loyalists rem--”   
  
“Cahir,” Ceallach places his hands on Cahir’s shoulders, trying to calm him. He’d done this often whenever Cahir had hurt himself when he was a boy and it always worked - he knew this, of course. Damn him. “There are things I cannot tell you yet.”   
  
“Why?”   
  
“I have a private audience with Queen Calanthe after we have settled in here.”   
  
“Pardon?” Cahir replies, brow furrowing.   
  
“We’ve had prior correspondence.”   
  
Cahir scoffs and looks up to the sky for the briefest of moments, taking a deep breath. “You must tell me all. No wonder I have felt like an idiot these past weeks. You’ve kept me in the dark.”   
  
“Cahir, you will find out all. I promise you this. But you must wait.” Ceallach gives Cahir’s shoulders a light squeeze and Cahir feels his anger simmer down a little. “You will learn it all after the wedding.”   
  
“After? Why only after?” Cahir begins his protest, hands beginning to wave around in front him.   
  
“We must all secure the alliance first. You and Princess Cirilla are to be married as soon as possible. Surely you didn’t think these were the normal circumstances?”   
  
“I don’t know, do I, Father? I’ve never been married, much less to a Cintran.”   
  
Ceallach chuckles a little before becoming serious once again. “Once the wedding is over, the bells will have finished ringing and you will learn what is truly happening in Nilfgaard. You have my word.”   
  
“Alright, Father. I believe you.”   
  
“Cahir?” His father calls his attention and Cahir takes another fleeting look inside the door, already tired of the politics talk. “I know you will try and be honourable about the situation but you must consum--”   
  
“ _Spare me_!” Cahir all but hisses through his teeth, heat rising on his cheeks. “I do _not_ need to have this conversation with you.” 

“Cahir, this is serious. If anyone found out that you hadn’t there could be issues. Not to mention how Queen Calanthe may react.”   
  
“I’m not going to force Cirilla or myself into bedding one another. She barely likes me, much less willing to...do _that_ , with me.”   
  
“No marriage ever starts out perfect, Cahir. Most arranged marriages never even develop into love, they are merely a necessity. Rarely anyone marries for love.”   
  
Cahir shakes his head. “Calanthe married Eist for love.”   
  
“I doubt it.” Ceallach lowers his voice a little. “Most people know Calanthe only married Eist so she could still be the power behind the throne whilst he was named King of Cintra.”   
  
“I don’t believe it.”   
  
Ceallach sighs, “You think I loved your mother at first? It creeps up on you, Cahir.”   
  
Cahir shakes his head in a manner just like his father and gestures at the door. He doesn’t need to ask the question and Ceallach steps inside, once again being greeted by his siblings. Cahir was often conflicted about his feelings: to him, it felt like he had fallen in love with Cirilla upon the moment he laid eyes on her, despite her stomping on his foot. He had always been the type to hang onto the words of his father, believing all of them but this seemed different. However, no matter how much love lingered in his heart, he could not force the feelings upon Cirilla. 

  
Judging by the concerned looks of both Dheran and Brianna as he walks in, Cahir plasters a small smile on his face as he un-pins his cloak and folds it over his arm. “I had one of the kitchen staff prepare us some food in one of the private rooms so we could catch up without disturbance.” Cahir links his arm through with his mother’s, leading them just a little down the corridor on the right and into one of the first rooms.   
  
The private room, despite only being small, could fit at least twenty lords and ladies within it. Of course, he had asked permission of both Eist and Cirilla that no doubt had to be approved by Calanthe before he truly got his request accepted. There was one long table in the room and the candles of the chandelier had been lit, allowing a warm glow to cover the room. A fireplace crackled loudly that was buried within the left wall and Erynn, Feena and surprisingly, Dheran, ran off towards the table to inspect the food they had been left.   
  
Magda and the rest of the kitchen staff had once again outdone themselves. He had only asked for some small food, thinking his family would be hungry from their journey, especially with his younger siblings but on the table was something akin to a small feast.   
  
A cerulean and gold tablecloth lay on the table with several candles scattered about the top, along with several jugs of what Cahir assumed to be mead, wine and something suitable for the younger members. There are three loaves of bread, each one surrounded by four jars of different preserves along with some butter. There’s some fish decorated with slices of lemon, duck with peppers and even some delicately cut sandwiches. In the center of the table sits a small cake of two tiers and even Cahir feels his mouth water. 

  
“Please,” He begins, wetting his lips that had suddenly gone dry - he had no idea how he was going to be able to give decrees and orders by Cirilla’s side. “Sit.”   
  
His family sit at different spots around the table: his mother and father sit at the head of the table, Brianna and Erynn take seats on the right with Dheran, Cahir and much to his surprise, Feena on the opposite side. Cahir’s heart swells and he can’t help but pat his youngest sister’s back as he passes her one of the plates that had been left for them to use.   
  
“So,” Cahir begins after a little while, quickly swallowing some fish he had been chewing, earning him a look from Mawr for even briefly speaking with his mouthful. “What has happened in Nilfgaard? Any news you wish to share?”   
  
There’s a brief silence before Dheran blurts out, “Brianna got proposed to!”   
  
“Shut it, you brat!” She replies curtly, kicking Dheran underneath the table, making it rise up a little and for a second, Cahir is worried the cake is going to land on Erynn’s head.   
  
“By who?” He inquires, quite nervous to hear the answer.  
  
The table falls silent for a moment and Cahir tries to meet the gaze of at least one of his family members who are all avoiding his eye line and looking at their plates.   
  
“Szymon Eggebracht.” Brianna mutters out, taking a large swig of the mead.

“I hope you said no.” Cahir retorts, met with a glare from his father.   
  
“Of course I said no!” Brianna defends herself, sitting up straight once again. “I would never marry a loyalist. I would rather marry a Nordling.”   
  
“Careful, Brianna. It is the Nordlings who make the mead you’re sipping on.” Cahir warns and he notes Mawr’s slight smile. She may have been a wife of Nilfgaard for many years but nothing could stop the fiery Northerner's blood in anyone's veins. He often wonders if the fire had passed into any of her children - Brianna, perhaps has a little of it and the rest of the girls remain to be seen. If any of the sons had it, it would have been Aillil.   
  
“I’ve been studying to attend the Imperial Academy.” Dheran speaks up and the slightly uneasy atmosphere disappears. “I wish to be an astrologer, Cahir. The Emperor is never short of want for them and I do not wish for violence, I don’t want to fight in the army.”   
  
Cahir leans around Feena and places a hand on Dheran’s shoulder, giving it a light squeeze. “I would be proud to have you as my brother no matter what you choose, Dheran.” Cahir smiles at his youngest brother who returns the gesture, placing his hand atop of Cahir’s. “But, I am glad that you have chosen a peaceful life. I would never wish the darkness that comes with war even on my greatest enemy.”   
  
“I’m not eligible to apply for another two years but…”   
  
“No but. You’ll do it, brother.” Dheran smiles again as Cahir ruffles his hair slightly before returning properly to his seat. “And what of you, Erynn? Any ideas yet?”   
  
Erynn shrugs at first and in a manner unlike both Cahir and Dheran, swallows down her food before speaking for the first time. “Well...I was thinking, perhaps, that when I’m Dheran’s age, I would like to attend the Medical Academy.”   
  
Cahir raises a brow, not familiar with the name - luckily, Ceallach understands.   
  
“Emperor Calveit is building a Medical Academy in Vicovaro. It’ll be good for the city, we hope.” His father adds and Cahir nods before bringing his attention back to Erynn.   
  
“Have you been practicing?” Cahir inquires and he’s met with an excitable nod from Erynn. It makes him happy to see them this way, at peace with their lives and themselves. If he agreed to the alliance for one thing, it was for prosperity and peace for his loved ones.   
  
“Yes. Papa caught me--”   
  
“Trying to grow mandrakes at the back of the gardens where she thought we couldn’t catch her? Yes, we did…”   
  
“Erynn!” Cahir fails to hide the laughter bubbling in his throat as he scolds her - as best a big brother can, of course. “Mandrakes are poisonous!”   
  
“I just wanted to try, Cahir! That’s all!” Erynn makes her defense which is highly credible for a ten year old.   
  
“Perhaps I’ll see if I can get a hold of something else for you to practice with. Maybe some celandine or eyebright? As long as it is less poisonous than mandrake.” Cahir suggests and Erynn nods at him again, smiling as she goes back to her food. “And you, Feena?”   
  
Fenna looks up at Cahir from her plate and the resemblance between them startles him slightly. “I like horses.” She says meekly and Cahir once again places a hand on her back. It is Feena he feels sorry for the most out of them all, she had only ever known a life of war and was still gaining her senses of normality.   
  
“Has Papa asked about lessons?” Cahir asks her, lowering his tone to speak directly to her as an attempt to try and make her feel more comfortable. It must work as she smiles and nods her head, hair from her braids escaping and hanging on her forehead.   
  
“I have a pony now.” She replies and Cahir smiles, feeling warm inside.   
  
“That is lovely, Feena. You must take good care of him.”   
  
“I promise.” And despite being only seven, Cahir believes her with his whole heart. 

It is Brianna who finally cuts into the cake, citing that chocolate is a great temptation and Cahir is inclined to agree as he takes a bite of his portion. It is not good as the chocolate from Nilfgaard, he notes but it tastes like heaven on his tongue either way.   
  
“Have you seen your wedding clothes yet?” Mawr asks and Cahir shakes his head, sending a small shrug of his shoulders in her direction.   
  
“No, should I?” He replies, putting another heaped forkful of cake in his mouth.   
  
“I suppose you should know if they fit you.” His mother replies and looks to Ceallach who nods in agreement.   
  
“Oh, I think they already know my fittings and what not. We had a discussion about the clothing here a while ago now.” Cahir swallows and pushes down the memory of those leather breeches from the engagement feast.   
  
“We’ve seen Cirilla’s dress.” Erynn mentions and is met with a swat of the hand off Brianna.   
  


“Oh, have you?” Cahir feels his throat tighten at the thought of Cirilla’s wedding dress and tries to keep a calm demeanor. “What is it like?” 

  
“We’re not allowed to tell you!” Erynn teases and Cahir thinks she’s a moment away from sticking her tongue out at him.   
  
“Well, I am sure the Princess will look beautiful no matter what the gown looks like.” Cahir tries to settle the conversation there but as he looks up from his plate, he notices his family all staring at him. “What?”   
  
“You sound awfully infatuated.” Dheran speaks first, eyes narrowing.   
  
“Just because I said she would look beautiful?”   
  
“Yes.” Dheran confirms and he sniggers slightly in Brianna’s direction as he does. Cahir takes a brief moment to remind himself that he is the eldest brother.   
  
“Enough, Dheran.” Ceallach calls out and his younger brother falls silent though there is still mischief dancing in his blue eyes. “Everybody knows the Cintran royal line has the luck of elven beauty on their side.”   
  
“Then what beauty do we have on our side?” Brianna ponders, out loud.   
  
“Beauty, Brianna? You all have the blood of Dyffryn and var Anahid in your veins, girl. You need nothing more.” Ceallach answers, the authority that Cahir was familiar with leaking back into his voice. The siblings all murmur in agreement, luckily and the discussion on beauty is taken no further.   
  
Dheran opens his mouth to ask another question or perhaps make another snide remark when a clearing of a throat is heard from the doorway. In it stands Cirilla, illuminated by the light leaking from one of the high circular windows in the room. The entire Dyffryn family stand and Cirilla shakes her head at them.   
  
“Please,” She begins, raising a hand. “You needn’t bow. I’m sorry for disturbing your reunion.”   
  
“It is no matter, your Highness.” Ceallach answers as they all remain standing.   
  
“May I borrow Cahir for a little while?” She asks - rather nicely, Cahir notes.   
  
Cahir looks at his parents for an answer who both nod. He feels the eyes of his siblings boring into his head as he untangles himself from the table and he just knows Brianna and Dheran are smirking at each other. He doesn’t look to confirm his suspicions and keeps his gaze strictly on Mawr and Ceallach.   
  
“I’ll be back soon.” He notifies them and they all sit back down. Cahir can hear them murmuring quietly between themselves and he tries not to listen as he goes to join Cirilla at the doorway.   
  
He pins his cloak back on as he walks to her, remembering how cold the corridors of the castle can be and notices Cirilla has colour coordinated her dress with him. She is wearing a velvet dress that is mostly gold, though it is decorated here and there with sage coloured vines, around her middle is a golden silk belt and atop her shoulders she wears a cloak the same as his. Cahir notes that she has taken to wearing another choker, however, this one is made from silver silk and in the middle hangs an emerald in the shape of a bird - a swallow, he thinks.   
  
“Is there a problem?” He finally asks once they are out of the room. There are two guards now at either side of the door that had not previously been there. Cirilla must notice him glancing at them and briefly rests a hand on his shoulder.   
  
“They’re just going to show your family to their guest rooms if and when they are ready to leave the room, that is all.” She begins and he lets out a sigh of relief which she smiles to herself at. “I wanted to spend some brief time with you before tomorrow. If you’d like to go back and be with your family, I understand.”   
  
“No! No,” He answers, rather quickly which makes Cirilla chuckle to herself as she leads him up a small staircase. “I cherish the chance to spend more time with you, Princess. I’m grateful you would even request it.” He feels like he’s babbling and goes quiet for a moment.   
  
“It is custom here in Cintra that the man not see his bride before the wedding.” Cirilla scoffs as she finishes, opening a door at the top of the staircase which leads to yet another staircase, winding up a few stories. “I think it’s stupid.”   
  
Cahir hums in agreement as he follows her. He admires her ability to seemingly climb the stairs without so much as a stumble in the dress of hers - he did not have the confines of a corset or skirt and was still feeling rather weak in the knees.   
  
“Do you come up here often?” He asks, hoping to perhaps learn why the steps required no effort from her.   
  
“Oh, these steps lead to the royal quarters,” She begins, looking very briefly over her shoulder at him as something he cannot name twinkles in her eye. “I thought I would surprise you and show you our future room. It’s just been newly decorated. That is, if you wish to share the same bed chamber, of course.”   
  
“I did not know there was a choice.” Cahir’s face heats up and he casts his gaze down at the steps as he walks up them, willing his knees to not fail him.   
  
“Some husbands only use the same rooms as their wives for their bedchamber duties.” Cirilla answers and Cahir notices how her face never flushes when talking about matters such as these. 

“I would only like to share the same bed if it is what you wish, Cirilla. If you don’t want that, I am content with residing in another chamber.” He answers genuinely and he hopes she can tell.   
  
“Only if you don’t snore.” Cahir rolls his eyes at her response and she giggles as she opens the last door.   
  
There is a long, stone corridor and Cahir realises they must be on at least the fourth level of the castle. It makes sense, he thinks, for the royal chambers to be this high up - even they required privacy sometimes. Along the right side of the walls, in between doors leading into bedrooms, are various tapestries and sigils that Cahir doesn’t recognise. On the left of them as Cirilla leads them along are various painted portraits of the rulers of Cintra past and present. 

Again, he doesn’t recognise the earlier ones until they reach Calanthe. She looks every bit of the Lioness of Cintra in her portrait as she does in real life, her gaze still making Cahir feel uneasy even in painted form. There are two portraits before her missing and Cahir assumes they are of King Roegner and one of them both; he doesn’t inquire why they are missing. Next to Calanthe is a painting of Eist and next to that, one of them both. Calanthe is smiling in it, in fact, he thinks she is perhaps mid laugh despite her attempts to hide it - Eist had that effect on people.   
  
Pavetta is next and it is finally clear that if anything, Cirilla had inherited her beauty. There’s something distinct about the portrait and Cahir thinks back to what Cirilla had said about her mother being beautiful but sad at the same time. Once again, there are two portraits missing after Pavetta but Cahir doesn’t inquire as to the missing images of Cirilla’s father. Next in line is Cirilla herself and Cahir is caught up on her beauty even in art form, her eyes are wonderfully adapted and he finds himself lost in them all over again.   
  
“This is where yours will hang.” Cirilla’s voice pulls him from his thoughts and he realises she had moved up whilst he started at her portrait. Ignoring the nervous fluttering in his stomach, he moved to her side. “And then next to that one will be one of us both.”   
  
“I fear I’ll be dreadful at this. I was never one for sitting hours whilst someone studied you mercilessly.” Cahir speaks, his voice uneasy.   
  
“I forced my painter to do mine over days. Maybe weeks. I don’t remember very well, it was a few years ago now.” Cirilla shrugs as she finishes, moving away from the wall of portraits and back into the center of the corridor.   
  
“You looked as beautiful there as you do now.” It slips out and for once, Cahir doesn’t panic. Cirilla just hums and continues to walk. She didn’t strike him as the type to take much note of compliments.   
  
“This is Calanthe and Eist’s room.” She gestures with a hand as they pass it and Cahir notes the door is firmly shut. “Don’t worry, you won’t hear them from where our room will be.” She smirks.   
  
“Cirilla!” He exclaims and as she laughs, he does too.   
  
The princess soon reaches the last door in the corridor and she makes a small noise in victory as she opens it. The room itself is beautifully decorated as he was expecting and there are various trinkets laid across the dressers scattered about the rather large chamber. There is a fireplace directly across from the bed with two armchairs and a small table in front of it, there are already some logs within the fireplace ready to be lit once the room is occupied. The bed itself takes up most of the first section of the room; it is a four poster bed with golden curtains that are able to be drawn all around it for privacy and on the bed itself are luxurious silk sheets, along with a green coloured bedspread atop of them.   
  
Across on the right of the bed is a large frosted window with a small alcove you could sit on, if you wished. Cahir walks over to it, stepping on the alcove to see if he could see into the courtyard. He could see people milling around, bringing things in or guards walking around on their daily duties but could not make out faces from the height or the frosting of the glass panes.   
  
“You can open it, you know.” Cirilla speaks and suddenly, she’s leaning over impossibly close to him and opens the latch of the window which swings open a little, allowing a frosty breeze to come into the room.   
  
“Ah, I see.” Cahir nods and he makes the mistake of looking down at the courtyard cobbles, making him feel a little queasy. Cirilla notices and she leans over once again, shutting the window.   
  
“Come. I’ll show you the other two rooms.” Cirilla holds his shoulder as he hops off the alcove and she follows in the same manner. Cahir opens a door just a little further along from the window and inside is what he assumes to be a study. 

There’s another similar window in this room and a desk with a small seat at the back wall of the room, it already has various sheets of paper stacked upon it and there are a few books. Cahir cannot help his curiosity and opens one to find it blank - perhaps he’ll take one to use as his own. There’s already a quill and inkwell waiting, as well as a pot filled with various types of pencils.   
  
“I do hope you’ll take the writing duties, Cirilla.” Cahir says as he turns to face Cirilla who is waiting at the door to show him the other room.   
  
“Not illiterate, are you?” She quips and Cahir shoves her gently with his shoulder as he shuffles past her back into the main room.   
  
“You’re being awfully cheeky today, Princess.” He notes and she laughs. Cahir cannot help but beam at the sound of her laughter - he truly is a fool in love.   
  
“Well, since our little fishing trip, I finally feel like I can be myself around you and not some act like some pompous princess.” Cirilla smiles at him as she finishes and he blinks rapidly a few times, just to make sure he wasn’t hallucinating.   
  
“I’m glad to hear that, Cirilla. Truthfully.” His voice is sincere and Cirilla nods, flashing him another quick smile as she walks over to the other door in the room, this one on the left side of the fireplace. 

This room is slightly less heavily decorated than the others as it appeared to be something of a washroom. There are two small dressers just near the door that Cahir doesn’t look in, two privacy screens on the left wall and a rather large wooden tub against the back wall.   
  
“I may have requested a bath big enough for two.” Cirilla almost murmurs and when Cahir turns around to fully face her, she is pretending to trail her finger through some non-existent dust atop of one of the dressers.   
  
“Oh?” He asks though he sincerely hopes she doesn’t answer, he can’t bear to think about blushing in a confined space so he settles for scratching his cheek.   
  
“It would be cosy.” She finally replies and Cahir’s cheeks heat up, much to his own disappointment.   
  
“Are you propositioning me, Princess?” He lowers his voice though he’s not quite sure where it comes from. As he was speaking, Cirilla had closed the distance between them, their noses now almost brushing like the day at the river bank.   
  
“No…” She says slyly, looking up at him and raising a brow. “But I don’t think it would necessarily be a bad idea.”   
  
“Princess,” Cahir begins and she cuts him off by planting a firm hand on his chest. Warmth pools at her touch and the air around the pair suddenly feels tighter.   
  
“If you are trying to be the virtuous knight who protects my honour, I can assure you, there isn’t much left to protect.” Cirilla looks directly at him and he’s quite sure his heart skips a beat. “Does that bother you?”   
  
“No, of course not.” Cahir shakes his head as he speaks and briefly places his hand over hers, giving it a light squeeze of reassurance. “Perhaps you’ll consider me foolish but I want this to be special. Cirilla, it may sound outrageous to you but in these weeks, you’ve become dear to me. And…”   
  
“Go on…” Cirilla says and Cahir is worried for a moment that he has perhaps spoken out of term but the feeling subsides when she slowly opens her fingers, allowing him to lace their hands together.   
  
“I wouldn’t want a poor maid who is merely bringing the room some more towels or oils to walk in on us having a quick fondle in a bathtub.” He whispers the last word as if it were some secret only shared between the both of them.   
  
“Gods,” Cirilla snorts and untangles herself from him, still smiling. “And here I thought you were charming. _Fondle._ ”   
  
“It was the first word that came into my head.” Cahir rolls his eyes, mainly at himself as he chuckles. “Don’t torment me for it.”   
  
“Oh, I intend to torment you about it for a while.” Cirilla finishes her bout of laughing and holds her hand out to him, fingers wiggling to catch his attention. “Come, we should get you back to your family or a maid may truly stumble in and find us.”   
  
Cahir doesn’t reply as he takes her hand, gently running a thumb over the back of it and she begins to lead them out of their future chamber and back down to the bottom of the castle. Her palm feels soft, warm and unmarred in comparison to his own, full of nicks and scars from years of wielding a weapon.   
  
Luckily he manages not to stumble as they both make their way back to the stairs and outside of the room Cahir’s family were still sitting in. Cirilla dismisses the guards with a wave of her hand and they head a little further up the corridor, giving them some privacy. She lets go of his hand and moves to stand opposite him.   
  
“Would you like to come inside? I’m sure they would love to meet you. My youngest sisters, especially.” Cahir asks and he longs to take her hand back in his once again but refrains.   
  
“It’s quite alright. It’s your time with them and you deserve it.” Cirilla says, a genuine smile on her lips as she looks at him.   
  
“Of course.” Cahir bows his head slightly and in a moment of boldness, takes her hand in his once again. Much to his surprise, she doesn’t pull away. “I will see you the day after tomorrow, in the temple then?”   
  
Cirilla shrugs, her smile turning into something of a coy one. “I’m sure I have a trick or two up my sleeve I can work out.”   
  
“I look forward to the next meeting then, Cirilla.” Carefully, he brings her hand to his lips and presses a light kiss upon her knuckles.   
  
The Lion Cub doesn’t say anything once he allows her hand to fall but she straightens her skirt and Cahir thinks that perhaps she seems slightly flustered - however, this could just be wishful thinking on his part. Cirilla bows her head at him briefly before she makes her exit and Cahir, the fool, cannot help but watch her figure fade away before he heads back inside the private hall. 

“There you are!” Mawr’s voice calls out and Cahir smiles to himself as he hangs his cloak on a wooden peg just inside the door.   
  
“I’m back, Mama.” Cahir replies as he walks back over to the table that has now been cleared of food but left with the beverages.   
  
“You were gone an awfully long while.” Brianna inquires, narrowing her eyes in Cahir’s direction.   
  
“Ah, yes.” Cahir scratches the back of his neck nervously before continuing. “Cirilla and I were just discussing some Cintran customs I had to be informed of by tomorrow.”   
  
“Right…” His sister trails off towards the end of her sentence before gathering a deck of cards from the table. “Shall we play some gwent, Cahir? For old times sake?”   
  
Cahir rolls his eyes but nods nevertheless. “Do you have a spare deck I could use?”   
  
Brianna scoffs and passes him one she was hiding underneath the table. “Let us see if I can still beat you, little brother.”   
  
Cahir shakes his head, laughing as he organises his cards and sits properly in his place on the bench, allowing both Dheran and Feena to huddle around him and look over his cards.   
  
He takes a fleeting look over his family, sitting and smiling around the table, finally together and realises that for the first time in a long time, he is hopeful to see what the morning brings. 


	5. Chapter 5

**Notes for the Chapter:**

> Smut warning for this chapter, folks! If you don't like that sort of stuff, it is fairly easy to skip.

“Lord Dheran, for the last time, I do not know why the chambermaid called you a pompous arse--”   
  
“I think I could tell him a few reasons why, Montgomery.” Cahir interjects, patience very thin after a hectic day.    
  
“It is not my place to tell him those reasons, Sir. Sadly.” Montgomery replies much to Dheran’s displeasure.    
  
Cahir’s younger brother rolls his eyes, ever the moody teen and opens the door to his guest room. “A d'yaebl aép arses. Goodnight.” He mutters before slamming the door.    
  
Cahir meets Montgomery’s gaze once the door has shut and bursts into laughter, the chamberlain trying to keep a neutral face but his light smile betrays him.    
  
“I think he’s more annoyed that he has been prodded with needles for the majority of the day than anything else, Sir.” Montgomery adds, lightly pushing Cahir’s arm to keep the future consort moving to his room. 

As normal, Montgomery is right and in all honesty, Cahir felt the same way. He was woken up at all but the crack of dawn, forced to practically inhale his breakfast and ushered away for almost the entire day for wedding fittings. Cahir also noted it was a rather crafty way from keeping him and Cirilla’s paths from crossing without having to mention a silly tradition.    
  
A high priestess from Cintra’s largest Temple of Melitele visited him in the afternoon, preparing him for what the next day would entail. A lot of fuss, in his opinion but it was his duty and he would follow it as requested.    
  
He had not seen any of the royal family and he had desperately looked for a glance of Cirilla whilst he was being walked from room to room to no avail. He was sure he had seen the top of Eist’s head at one point but likewise, whoever it was seemed to be just as busy as him.    
  
Finally, they reach Cahir’s room and Montgomery automatically opens the door and for a second, Cahir thinks the man is going to push him and lock the door.    
  
“I’m awfully hungry, can I not go and get something from the kitch--”   
  
“No, absolutely not!” Montgomery’s nostrils flare despite him not raising his voice all that much and Cahir purses his lips together like a scolded child. “I’m sorry, Sir but I don’t wish for you to get scolded by the Queen - especially not on your wedding day. I’ll inquire as to whether I can have one of the ladies bring something to your room once I’ve checked on your sisters.”    
  
Cahir simply nods, a slight smile plastered on his lips. “I would appreciate that, my friend. I’ll see you in the morning.”    
  
Montgomery gives a small bow before departing and Cahir sighs as he closes the door to his room, banging his head lightly against the wood. He’s now almost positive he wasn’t cut out for the life of royalty.    
  
Cahir turns to make his way over to the bed before all but jumping out of his skin.    
  
“ _ Great Sun! _ Cirilla! What on earth are you doing here?”    
  
“Sneaking out!” She answers, that cheeky grin of hers that he was continuously in awe of already plastered onto her face and her hands planted firmly on her hips. “I was wondering if you would like to join me…?” She stands near to the window in the room, back pressed against the wall.   
  
“Ah, this is one of those tricks you were suggesting yesterday, hm?” He goads, feeling a little better now his heart was no longer sitting in his throat. After a brief, inner battle with his morality he finally answers her. “I’ll come along. But if we get hung for this, it is your fault.”    
  
Cirilla claps her hands together, still grinning as if she were the cat that got the cream. “And you’re already wearing something discreet. Excellent!” She gestures to his attire that was rather similar to her own: plain riding breeches, boots, a white shirt and cloak to keep warm with.    
  
Carefully, Cirilla opens the window in the room and makes her way onto the small shelf on the outside of it. Cahir follows in her footsteps and waits for her to make the small jump from the ledge, quickly looking to ensure she had made it to the courtyard without breaking a leg. Once he is satisfied she is in good health, he closes the window as best as he could from the outside and makes the jump to the courtyard cobblestones himself - he lands with only a small grunt but knows his knees will not be so grateful for the impact later.

“I knew I could corrupt you sooner or later, Nilfgaardian.” Cirilla smirks, mostly to herself as she pats him on the shoulder.    
  
“Please,” Cahir scoffs teasingly, “I just hide my rebellious streak particularly well.”    
  
Cirilla scoffs back at him before gesturing with her head to follow which he does. They walk through the gardens once again, remaining quiet out of fear of being caught by guards that may be on patrol around the area.    
  
The sun was not so far off from setting by the time they made it to the river where Kelpie was already waiting, hitched to a nearby tree. Cirilla goes over to the black mare, feeding the horse an oatcake that she had grabbed from the saddlebags. 

“Where are we heading off to, Princess?” Cahir inquires, going to the opposite side of Kelipe and giving her a light pat on the side.    
  
“I thought that you would like to see Cintra. During Yule, there’s a market that runs from the evenings into the early morning. I thought you would like to see it.” Cirilla explains, brushing her hands through Kelpie’s mane.    
  
“And?” Cahir pushes, the look on Cirilla’s face saying she had not fully finished speaking.    
  
“Well, I just want to be Cirilla for what is left of the day. No dress fittings with angry tailors, no duties and certainly no corsets. No acting. Before I am expected to be a dutiful princess and wife.” She explains, her eyes downcast for a brief moment.    


“It sounds like a wonderful idea and I am glad you asked me along. But I hope you understand that I never want you to pretend around me. Ever. I accept you as you are - lion claws and all.” Cahir searches for her eyes as he talks, smiling softly in her direction as she finally meets his gaze.    
  
“I know.” She reassures him with a smile back before checking Kelpie’s saddle is fastened on correctly. “I try not to give a shit about what other people think of me but I must admit, politics are not really my forte.”    
  
“Mine neither,” Cahir steps back as Cirilla pulls herself onto the horse and he takes a pause to admire how she looks atop her mount. Her silver hair almost glows in the evening forest light and the simple green cloak she wears gives her a sense of regality. Of course, the breeches were an added bonus and Cahir allows his eyes to briefly flicker over the way they hug her thighs. “So we shall stumble through Cintran politics together.”

“We shall.” Cirilla nods her head, flashing a reassuring smile. “Hop on, then.”    
  
Cahir does as she asks, carefully seating himself on Kelpie’s back. He hesitantly places his hands on Cirilla’s waist, keeping a light grip as she spurs the horse forward.    
  
Cahir soon finds out Cirilla rides her horse like a maniac. The trees of the woodland whip past them so fast he’s worried he may throw up all over her back but relaxes once he remembers his stomach is mostly empty. It doesn’t help that every now and then, he peers at her only to find her eyes shut, allowing the wind to pass over her. He doesn’t point it out, however, as it makes him content to see her free.    
  
“Cirilla?” He pipes up after a short while, chin almost resting on her shoulder as Kelpie slows once the city walls are in sight. Cirilla just hums and he takes it as a sign to continue with his question. “Won’t the guards at the palace know we are missing?   


“Ah, that.” Cirilla slows Kelpie down to a canter and brings her to a nearby hitching post, lightly tapping Cahir’s hand as a signal for him to climb down which he obeys. “Eist has requested that we are not to be disturbed in order to get a good night’s rest. If you catch my meaning.” She finishes speaking and climbs off Kelpie, hitching her up to the post.    
  
“That man is full of many surprises.” Cahir chuckles and she joins in with him.    
  
“Against his better judgement, I think he likes you.” Cirilla looks over her shoulder to smirk and his breath gets stuck in his throat. 

“I’ll pretend I didn’t hear that.” Cahir adds as she walks over to him, finished attending to Kelpie. “And what of the people here? They won’t recognise you?” He lowers his voice for the last questions, aware that Cirilla had pushed the hood of her cloak up to hide her hair. Luckily for him, nobody in Cintra knew what he looked like just yet. 

“I have friends here who know how to keep mouths shut.” She states with all the authority of a future ruler. “Besides, I’m a very sheltered princess who doesn’t leave her ivory tower very much, you know?”    
  
Cahir hums to himself, sending a nod of his head in her direction as he takes in the city’s main square. There are numerous stalls scattered around that appear to have only been recently set up for the night market Cirilla had mentioned.    
  
“Mind if I pop into this tavern for a moment?” Cirilla inquires and pulls Cahir from his thoughts - he gives a quick nod of his head and she disappears into the building - it is a two storey, half timbered building with a few windows on the second floor and Cahir decides The Minstrel’s Misery is an apt name for the establishment, judging by its outdoor decor. Cahir peers up to the second storey of the tavern where there are four windows: there are two that appear to be unoccupied, one has curtains drawn with a candle lit somewhere in the room and in the fourth, Cahir can see a wooden headboard moving in rhythm to which he flushes and quickly averts his eyes.    
  
“Surprise!” Cirilla’s voice once again grounds him in reality as she exits the tavern, two wooden tankards in her hands. “Some Nilfgaardian lemon.” She smiles, handing him one of the tankards. “How do you say ‘good health’ in Nilfgaardian?”    
  
“Iechyd da, Cirilla.” Cahir smiles, tilting his tankard towards hers.   
  
“Iechyd da, Cahir.” Cirilla replies, tapping the rims of their tankards together before she gulps down the beverage. Cahir stares for a few seconds before doing the same, his face curdling at the sourness once the tankard is empty.    
  
“I forgot how strong that drink is.” He states and Cirilla nods, grinning.    
  
“Perhaps it’s my goal to get you as tipsy as possible.” She smirks, taking his tankard and putting it on a wooden table on the outside of the tavern along with her own.    
  
“Why’s that?” He inquires, watching as Cirilla shrugs before stretching her arms above her head.    
  
“It’s a secret.” She taps the side of her nose, making him laugh before she takes his hand in hers and gives it a light squeeze, leading him towards the market. 

The market is now emitting a low glow from numerous lanterns that are attached to string, going from stall to stall. He looks to see candles inside of them but he can’t and realises they must be lit with magic. In Nilfgaard, he was not used to such open displays of sorcery - he makes a guess that it could be the same in Cintra and that is why the market only took place under the cover of dusk. There are more food stalls than anything and it does capture Cahir’s interest as to how the fish look fresh despite how there would be not much luck catching fish in the Cintran waters.    
  
A woman Cahir believes to be a druid sits on a stall that sells nothing but herbs and the odd bottled potion, the wares bathed in a purple light from the lantern above the stall. Further along, an elf sells antiques; brooches, cloak pins, rings and various gemstones.    
  
On a stall lit with a green glow, a dwarf claims to be a master of divination and offers to read Cirilla’s future for a high price of a hundred ducat. She politely shakes her head and declines. Next to that, a stooped man with a scar across his face sells things Cahir is not sure people could truly need - a key labelled as for the right door, water for a desert, a phoenix feather and glamarye ointment pots that are labelled as for the weary man, for the woman who owns a broken heart and one simply called lavender and pomegranate.    
  
“These stalls are constantly reminding me what an odd woman you are, Cirilla.” Cahir lowers his voice so only she can hear and she turns her head to face him, eyes narrowing. “I mean odd in the most delightful, extraordinary way.” He adds and the look she was giving him subsides and is replaced by a faint smile. 

“Here,” Cirilla finally pipes up around half way through the market as he is browsing a pressed flower stall and hands him some gold coins in a little pouch that could attach to his belt. “Fifty ducats, in case you see something you like. I’m just going to peer over some things I’ve seen before - don’t go too far, alright?”    
  
“Yes, of course.” Cahir nods, giving her hand a firm squeeze before she detangles their fingers and hurries off into the crowd.    
  
Cahir sighs as he is left on his own and continues onwards until he finds a stall selling various delicacies and settles on buying a small bag of strawberries from Kovir, dipped in a chocolate from Zerrikania. He takes a bite of one, savouring the sweetness on his tongue before swallowing.    
  
“Anything on the stall for your lassie?” A nasally voice calls from his left and Cahir looks over, being met with a stooped, aging woman.    
  
“I don’t have a lassie, my lady.” He replies politely and continues to try and walk on.    
  
“I saw you with her earlier. The ashen haired one.” The stall-keep says and Cahir sighs, turning his full attention to her.    
  
“What do you have?” He inquiries, more out of his inherent politeness than actual curiosity.    
  
“How about a bonny pin for her cloak?” The woman gestures with her hands that are wrinkled and her fingernails brown.    
  
Cahir allows his eyes to examine the cloak pins but none particularly catch his attention. He shuffles along the stall slightly, his eyes landing on a golden chain from which hangs a glass locket, a pressed white lily petal inside of it.    
  
“How much for the locket?” He inquires, making eye contact with the seller who strangely made him uncomfortable.    
  
“The Sherrawed locket? For you, handsome boy, forty ducat.” She holds her hand out, grin on her face that looks more like a snarl than anything else. Cahir hands over the rest of the gold remaining in his pouch and picks the locket off the table. “May I offer some advice?” The woman asks.    
  
“Go ahead.” He waits patiently, moving the chain of the locket through his fingers.    
  
“Destiny has you marked, boy. I sensed it when you approached. She left me a message for you.”   
  
Cahir feels his stomach flip and forces himself to speak. “What is the message Destiny so kindly left for me?”    
  
“Be weary of the snowfall or your blood will decorate the stairs. He who the Emperor cast aside comes for you and what he is owed.”    
  
Cahir opens his mouth to speak but words fail him and he takes one last glance at the woman who has gone back to sitting on a rocking chair as if nothing had happened before he walks off, the hair on the back of his neck standing up slightly. 

“There you are!” Cirilla collides with him, her arms wrapping around his shoulders. “Are you alright? You look awfully pale.”    
  
“Too much sugar.” He smiles weakly, tipping the bag in her direction. She wrinkles her nose as she looks inside but takes a strawberry anyway, popping the full fruit in her mouth. “Where did you go off to?”    
  
“There is this stall that comes every year and they sell these beautiful, ornate daggers so I went to get one.” Cirilla bends down quickly, pulling the dagger from her boot and holding it out for Cahir to look at. It is gold plated and rather sharp, an emerald buried within the hilt and Cahir agrees that it is truly stunning craftsmanship.    
  
“I got you a little something as well.” Cahir states and is met with a curious look from Cirilla once she has finished hiding the dagger back in her boot. “Turn around.” He whispers gently, setting the bag of fruit at his feet as she does as he asks. Carefully, he lowers her hood and puts the golden chain around her neck, his fingers fumbling with the clasp at the back slightly. As he finishes, he lifts Cirilla’s hair from underneath the chain and smiles as she turns back around to face him, her eyes shining brightly.    
  
“It’s beautiful. Cahir, I--”   
  
“Ah. Don’t protest. It caught my eye and I wanted to give you a gift.” He can’t help himself and he brings a hand up to cup her cheek, letting his thumb rub against her cheek. Her skin is soft and even touching her cheek makes him feel light headed. “I’m sorry if it is improper of me to gift it you, I can take it ba--”    
  
He is cut off by her lips capturing his, her fingers curled tightly into the collar of his cloak to bring him down to her height. Foolishly, he hesitates for a mere moment before bringing his other hand up to properly cup her face and Cirilla responds by deepening the kiss - she is all tongue and teeth and desperation and Cahir feels warmth pooling in the pit of his stomach. Her lips were as soft as he imagined them to be and she tastes of strawberry making all of his senses scream as she slowly starts to pull away, catching his bottom lip with her teeth as she does.    
  
“I was getting impatient waiting for you to do that. My apologies.” She whispers, voice slightly hoarse and her lips plump as she brushes their noses together.    
  
“There’s not an inch of you that is sorry, Ciri.” The shortened version of her name slips out of his mouth before he can correct himself and the princess reacts by pressing a quick kiss to his lips - once, twice and a third time: he can’t help but chuckle, trying to pull his head away from the onslaught of affection.    
  
“Say it again.”    
  
“Ciri. Ciri, Ciri…” He utters her name as if it is his dying prayer and they’ve forgotten that the world is still continuing behind them, nothing existing apart from the two of them. Cahir wishes it would stay this way always but even he knows rulers must love their kingdom and their people above all.   
  
“We should go somewhere a little more private, no?” Ciri asks and Cahir feels his face flush though he’s almost sure it’s because he now remembers they’re still standing in the middle of the market.    
  
“I-- Um. Only if you wish to.” He stammers and Ciri places a hand on his cheek, smiling as she does so and he secretly hopes his face doesn’t feel as hot as he thinks it does.    
  
“I’ve been wishing to since after we went fishing.” She admits and Cahir looks at her in awe. He was always taught princesses were demure women, never allowed to embrace their sexuality or their feelings in such a manner Cirilla all but turned her nose up at. “Gods, you’re not a virgin, are you?”    
  
“What? No. No, no,  _ no _ .” He answers and a brief flash of relief crosses Ciri’s face despite his own getting hotter as the seconds pass. “I just don’t want you to think I came to Cintra just to bed you and get a title.”    
  
“If I thought that for even a minute, I would have killed you myself by now.”    
  
“Do you mercilessly threaten all the people you are about to bed?” Cahir queries and is met with an eye roll.    
  
“Only the ones I like.” She smiles proudly at her statement before taking his hand and dragging him off back towards The Minstrel’s Misery. Cahir doesn’t see the point in trying to dissuade her from her course of action and in all honesty, he wasn’t particularly bothered so long as there was a bed involved and not a blanket on the floor.    
  
Ciri keeps a hold of his hand as she drags him through the back entrance of the tavern and up the stairs so quickly he wasn’t sure he had fully registered what was happening. As she opens the door to one of the rooms, Cahir realises that when she came in for the tankards earlier she also must have paid for a room - every bit the rebellious princess he had heard the tale of. 

No sooner had he kicked the door shut, her lips were back on his and he frantically pulls at the pin of her cloak, allowing it to fall on the floor. Ciri kicks it to the side as she finishes unpinning his own cloak and haphazardly throws it behind him, her fingers now focusing on the few buttons of his shirt. Quickly, she spins them around, lips never leaving his own the entire time and pushes them towards the bed - he just has time to mentally note that it is rather clean before the backs of his knees hit the bed frame and he falls onto the mattress that is ever so surprisingly soft.    
  
“Ciri…” He murmurs, pulling away from her lips and taking a moment to admire the situation at hand. Her breathing is coming in short, slightly shallow pants that feel hot against his face. She stills smells of strawberries and chocolate and there’s a hint of rose scented oil that makes her all the more intoxicating.    
  
“Are you going to babble all the way through this as well?” She teases, laughing as he does too before she captures his lips again, this time softer and Cahir can’t help but sigh in contentment as he shuffles further up the bed, allowing her to slip her legs around him. Carefully, she pulls his shirt over his head, separating their lips for a moment.    
  
Ciri goes silent and Cahir is worried she may be doubting her decision when he feels one of her fingers slowly tracing the smattering of scars that lie across his shoulders - he doesn’t say anything and settles for watching her, his chest tight. Softly, she leans down and presses a kiss to each one and he sighs softly, enjoying the tenderness of her touch. Her kisses trail from his shoulder up to his jaw and his eyes flutter shut, head tilting. Ciri’s fingers tangle into his hair and she gives a hard tug with her teeth on his ear, making him yelp before he swats at her though she is too busy having one of her bouts of giggles to notice.    
  
Cahir kisses her once more, softer but desperate and she accepts willingly, tongue sliding against his. His fingers are not as lithe as her own and he fumbles as he unbuttons her blouse, lifting it over her head - she laughs as tufts of her hair stick up everywhere and Cahir’s stomach flutters. How beautiful she was, he thought, how radiant. He fidgets as he kicks off his boots, wrapping an arm around her waist to keep her planted in her position and he’s acutely aware of the warmth seeping through their garments from both of their bodies. Ciri follows his lead and uses her feet to carefully kick off her boots - they land with a small crash against the nearby wall but he doesn’t particularly care. 

Her hand slides down his chest, fingers trying to unlace his breeches but Cahir takes a second to seize an opportunity and flips them around, her head landing on the pillows at the top of the bed. He copies her previous actions and unlaces her breeches, Ciri helping by lifting her hips as he pushes them down her legs and off, onto the floor. The shift she’s wearing is plain and yet, somehow, she still looks every inch of royalty. Slowly, he pushes it upwards and hooks her thin undergarment underneath it with his fingers and pulls them almost effortlessly down her legs, discarding them on the floor next to the bed. Ciri helps with the next part and pulls the shift over her head, leaving it hanging on the headboard as he begins peppering kisses on her neck, collarbone and further down her chest.    
  
“I thought I was the one who did the teasing…” She sighs and he briefly looks up at her as he presses a kiss onto her hips. Slowly, he shuffles a little further down on the bed and presses several kisses to her inner thigh when he notices a tattoo sitting on the opposite leg, hidden away in the cove of her thigh. He carefully traces it with his fingers and above him, Ciri shivers.    
  
“It’s beautiful.” He declares, pressing a kiss to the inking of a fiery rose so unlike anything he would ever dream of a princess having.    
  
“It is an awfully long story that I’ll tell you after.” She looks down at him, the corners of her mouth pulling up into a small, reassuring smile.    
  
Cahir resumes his trail of kisses along her thigh before finally pressing a kiss to her warmth. He feels her tense ever so slightly above him and he hesitates for a mere moment but she tangles her fingers into his hair and he hums as he works his tongue against her - softly, at first and he’s met with a moan as he presses harder. He allows his tongue to slip inside her and Ciri clenches her legs around him, back arching off the bed.    
  
Gently, he slips a finger inside her and he’s celebrated with a loud, sharp moan. Ciri mutters an obscenity underneath her breath as he slips another finger inside and curls them upwards, his tongue continuing its movements. Ciri tightens her grip on his hair and he groans, his own arousal growing impatient as she cries out softly with each stroke of his tongue, each curve of his fingers. 

Peering up at her was perhaps a foolish mistake on his part: her eyes were tightly closed, her cheeks red with warmth and her mouth partly open as those noises he could only describe as delicious left it. The grip on his hair tightened impossibly more, her thighs gripping him almost as equally tight and her soft cries become louder and louder until her hips spasm and the only sound she is making are soft gasps as she comes down from her high.    
  
He lifts his tongue from her, though he still gently teases her with his fingers until she falls still and her limbs relax. Cahir moves away from his position between her legs and joins her at the top of the bed, resting on his elbow as he looks at her. It takes her a few moments still to catch her breath and when she finally does look at him, he smiles softly, eyes full of adoration.    
  
“Gods, is that what they teach you at the Military Academy?” She laughs as she says it, moving some of his dark curls that were hanging in front of his eyes.    
  
“It’s what they  _ don’t _ teach you at the Military Academy.” He laughs too before swooping down to capture her lips in his. As usual, her tongue seeks his and he allows her, his body pulsing when she moans into it, tasting herself on his tongue. He draws away from her and she takes the opportunity to bite his bottom lip, making him jump at the delightful mixture between pain and pleasure.   
  
“I am not done with you yet, Nilfgaardian.” She gently shoves his shoulder, forcing him to lie back on the bed as those delicate fingers of hers unlace his breeches with little effort. Cahir feels almost giddy as she pushes down his breeches along with his underclothes and he obediently lifts his hips as she pulls his clothing down his legs and onto the floor with the rest of their clothes. Ciri takes him in hand, slowly stroking up and down. His eyes roll back as he moans quietly, hips jerking up - his eyes are firmly closed but he knows that if he happened to peer up at her, a smug smile would be sitting perfectly on her lips.    
  
“Don’t torment me, Princess.” His voice comes out hoarse and he’s not fully sure it is his own. It was a foolish mistake to call out her teasing, he thinks as her fingers lightly ghost across the skin of his thighs and then his stomach, leaving goosebumps in their wake. Ciri straddles him once again and brushes her lips across his, sparingly so as she runs herself along his length, making his back arch. “Please…” He all but whines and he feels her smirk against the skin of his neck.    
  
“Say it again.” She torments, nipping at the delicate skin of his neck as his hips jerk upwards again.    
  
“Please, Ciri…” He opens his eyes to lock with her gaze and her eyes are filled to the brim with desire, lust and perhaps a notch of something else.    
  


Gently, she guides him into her and settles with a small gasp as she sinks down on him. Cahir marvels at how perfect their bodies fit together as Ciri guides his hands to her hips. She moves slowly at first, in an angle she likes and Cahir can’t help but to run his hands over her body - her waist, the curve of her hips and he marvels at how unmarked they are compared to his own where there are scars mapped out almost everywhere.    
  
He reaches up to gently palm a breast, squeezing it gently. “You’re beautiful.” He mutters and her lips twitch in a slight smile but she is concentrating far too much on the task at hand to say anything back. She moves faster and he meets every movement of hers with his own, urging her onwards. Cahir slips a hand between her legs and presses the pad of his thumb against her clit, making her moan, her hips faltering for a second before they resume, slightly more frantic.    
  
Ciri’s eyes are tightly closed as he shuffles to sit up, an arm wrapping around her waist as he meets her thrusts. Her desperate cries sound like a fine ballad to his ears and he rests his forehead against her shoulder, breathing heavily between grunts. Ciri wraps an arm around his shoulders, nails digging into the delicate skin there as she arches her back, crying out.    
  
“Gods,” She cries, briefly pressing her lips against his with a fervent desire, “Cahir--”    
  
Her nails dig impossibly into his back as he continues unwavering, letting out a breath he didn’t realise he was holding as she meets her release with a loud, trembling cry. Her body pulses against his own deliciously and he continues his thrusts as her body relaxes, Ciri’s head now resting on his shoulder as he allows his hand to trail up her back, still chasing his release.    
  
“Can I--?” He whispers near her ear, his spare hand that was not touching any part of her he could find going behind his back to rest on the bed, using it as leverage as he thrusts up into her, quickening.    
  
“Yes.” She murmurs against his neck, breath warm as she trails kisses along his jaw. With her permission, he thrusts a few more times, pace almost erratic as he finally meets his own release, jerking with a groan as he comes, peppering kisses across any inch of her skin he can reach.    
  
Breathless, he searches for her lips and once he finds them, presses several soft kisses to them as he falls back onto the bed, regretfully making their bodies part. Ciri draws herself close to him, tucking her head below his chin as he wraps an arm around her, lazily running his fingers up and down her back as she covers them with the knitted bedspread. He dares to look at her and he’s met with a satisfied smile that he can’t help but chuckle at before pressing a kiss to her forehead. Confident she wasn’t going to run the few miles back to the castle, he allows his eyes to flutter shut and drifts into a comfortable sleep, forgetting he was in quite possibly the ugliest tavern in the whole of Cintra. 

***

The light touches of fingers against the scar on his forehead stir him awake and he blinks a few times as he comes to, remembering where he was and what happened. Ciri smiles from above him, her fingers still dancing lightly across his skin.    
  
“Hello.” He whispers before stretching slightly, mindful not to hit Ciri in the face with his arms.    
  
“Hi.” She says softly, leaning down to kiss him gently. It’s soft, sweet and Cahir decides he never wants to know any lips apart from hers.    
  
The room is illuminated by moonlight from outside the window, the moon still hanging fairly low in the sky and Cahir forgets all about time and the wedding and the castle. For now, nothing exists outside of the door and he’s quite content with leaving it that way.    
  
“You’re awfully sneaky. Paying for a room at a tavern for us under the disguise of some Nilfgaardian Lemon.” He chuckles mid-sentence and Ciri joins in, resting her head against his chest and an arm draping around his waist. Cahir presses a kiss to the top of her head and rests there: she smells as wondrous as she did earlier and though there’s a light aroma of sweat now attached to the both of them, he finds he doesn’t mind.    
  
“I don’t recall you having any issues with it.” She tilts her head up to look at him and he blushes, making her snort. “I was perfectly fine with having my way with you yesterday when I whisked you away from your reunion but someone didn’t want a quick fondle.” Ciri teases, mimicking his slight Vicovarian accent when repeating the last two words.    
  
“Ah, but wasn’t this so much better than a quick fondle?” He murmurs against her head as he runs his fingers through her silver wisps of hair. “And, pardon - have your way with me?”    
  
Ciri hums in agreement, looking up at him once more, mischief dancing in her eyes. “I could use a quick fondle now, though…”    
  
“You are insatiable, Princess.” He laughs before she grabs his side, tickling his weakest spot and making him squirm. Ciri takes the opportunity to climb over him, playfully trying to grab his arms as he fights against her vice like grip. “Alright, alright! I’m sorry!” He manages to spit out between bouts of laughter and Ciri finally yields, laughing with him.    
  
“Must we go back?” She murmurs, taking his hands in her own as she settles down again beside him.    
  
“Sadly, I think we must.” He sighs, bringing her hand to his lips and placing a soft kiss on the back of it.    
  
“About the tattoo…” She looks up at him, intertwining their fingers.    
  
“You don’t have to tell me if you don’t want to.”    
  
“I want to.” She takes a deep breath and Cahir takes the moment to give her hand a light squeeze. “A few years ago, I was completely annoyed with the life of royalty and foolish Cirilla decided to run away into the city.” She pauses, wetting her lips. “I joined a gang of youths that were around my age - I was sixteen at the time. They called themselves The Rats and we did things that when I look back at, disgust me. I met a girl, her name was Mistle. We were lovers,” She continues, taking a quick look at his face and he looks at her, no sign of repulsion on his features. “I loved her, or I perhaps thought I did. We got matching tattoos. Things ended up bleak - I believe she used me, in more ways than one. After only a few weeks, I returned home an entirely different person. Are you still sure you wish to be part of my life? You’ve still got a few hours to escape.” She whispers, eyes full of that slight sadness he was oh so familiar with.    
  
“I’m still sitting here, am I not?” He tilts her chin with his thumb and forefinger, planting a gentle kiss on her lips. “You loved who you loved and we all have done things we regret. We were all young and foolish too, once upon a time.”    
  
“I was different before Mistle,” She chuckles as she begins speaking and Cahir notes the tone of it was quite bitter. She detangles their hands and places hers on his chest instead, drawing small circles on his skin with a finger. “You would have liked me.”    
  
“I like you now. Just the way you are.” No sooner had the words left his mouth, she cups his cheek and pulls him down for a kiss: it’s gentle and her lips are constantly inviting. She pulls away after a few moments and Cahir could almost whine in protest as he chases her lips.    
  
“Come. We must leave or I fear we’ll stay here forever - not that it would be so terrible but I’d rather not meet Grandmother’s wrath.” He grumbles to himself as she rises off the bed, collecting her shift and pulling it back over her head, followed by her underclothes as he sighs loudly in disappointment.    
  
Regretfully, he steps out of the bed and quickly gets dressed. Ciri hands him his cloak which was thrown haphazardly near the door and he pins it back on, grabbing her by the waist and pulling her in for a kiss to which she happily obliges before opening the door.    
  
Ciri leads him down the stairs of the tavern, her hand never leaving his. She salutes the innkeeper as she walks out with him and he has to laugh at her indifference to the act they’ve just committed. Though, he understands the innkeeper is probably one of the tight lipped friends she had mentioned.    
  
Once they are back in the streets, Ciri puts the hood of her cloak up but keeps hold of his hand as they make their way back to Kelpie. Cahir swings their hands a little as they both walk and she smiles, seeming so at peace with herself. 

Kelpie doesn’t seem all too bothered about their arrival, only taking note when Ciri passes her an apple from the saddlebags.    
  
“You can ride her back, if you want?” Ciri says and Cahir turns his gaze to her, raising a brow. “I’m terribly tired.” She shoots a wink in his direction and Cahir blushes as he climbs into Kelpie’s saddle, Ciri following soon after, her arms wrapping around his waist and her lips planting a kiss just behind his ear.    
  
Cahir spurs Kelpie on into a gallop and he concentrates largely on not getting lost on the way back to the castle. Luckily, Ciri directs him where necessary and they quickly make it back to their hideaway spot at the river.    
  
“How are we getting Kelpie in without being caught?” He inquires as Ciri hops off the mare and he follows, grabbing her reins.    
  
“Just hitch her to the tree. I bribed a stable hand to collect her before the hustle and bustle of the morning.” Ciri states and he quickly does as he’s told, before beginning to walk back towards the gardens and through them, silent.    
  
Ciri leads them to the kitchen door they left from when they went fishing and luckily, the kitchens are in darkness and they manage to sneak through them. The Princess leads Cahir back to his room, sighing a little as he places his hand on the handle. He notices this and pulls her against him, making her chuckle.    
  
“Don’t get me all riled up again. You wouldn’t be able to handle it.” She threatens, playful menace briefly clouding her eyes. 

He pouts playfully and she shakes her head in amusement before pulling him down and kissing him, deeply. Cahir can’t help but notice the feeling of warmth shooting through his body and he groans as quietly as he can muster against her lips, whilst she moves her hand up to tangle in the hair at the nape of his neck before pulling away.    
  
“I’ll see you in the temple, then.” He whispers, voice hoarse with want of something he cannot have. She nods, her eyes searching his own for something as she untangles from his embrace. “Goodnight, Ciri.” He says softly, pressing a fleeting kiss to her forehead.    
  
“Goodnight, Cahir.” She smiles warmly at him and he melts once more before opening his door and heading into his room, for the last time. 

He doesn’t take a glance at her as he shuts the door, knowing the minimal resolve he had would dissipate. Quietly, he pulls off his boots and unpins his cloak, placing it on a wooden hook near the door. He settles for just kicking off his breeches before he dives into his bed, pulling the sheets up as far as they would go.    
  
Cahir finds his eyes close rather quickly and he falls into a dreamless slumber for the last time as just Cahir of Vicovaro. 


	6. Chapter 6

**Notes for the Chapter:**

> It's a nice day for a (white) wedding and, get this - a triple chapter update. Enjoy! 😁

Cahir wakes, being slightly shaken. 

He jerks up and grabs the arm that was shaking him, heart thumping loudly in his chest.  
  
“It’s just me! It’s me, son.” Ceallach sighs in relief as Cahir releases his arm, sighing too and stretching out.  
  
“What time is it?” He asks, gruffly and pinching the bridge of his nose, voice still full of the huskiness that came with sleep.  
  
“Almost ten, boy.” Ceallach answers as he helps Cahir sit up in the bed. “I did try and wake you earlier but you were almost dead to the world. Did you black out last night?”  
  
“Uh, something like that…” Cahir chuckles, rubbing his eyes before pulling the sheets off himself and swinging his legs to the side and placing them on the cold, wooden floor.  
  
Of course, he didn’t mind his father being the one to wake him on his wedding day - he supposes it would be some tradition or other but doesn’t inquire. Cahir would have rather had at least ten minutes alone to process that, in fact, last night was not one of his dreams. Carefully, he reaches to scratch the back of his neck and winces ever so slightly as to not notify Ceallach when he accidentally brushes his fingers too hard against one of the marks of Ciri’s nails that had been left behind. Definitely not a dream, then.  
  
“Come,” Ceallach says, putting his hands at Cahir’s back and all but shoving him off the bed. He laughs lightly as he pulls on a robe his father had offered to him, the act reminding him of the days at Darn Dyffra when he, Aillil and Brianna used to sneak into their parent’s bed and remain there until at least midday. “There’s a hot bath waiting for you.”  
  
“Am I allowed to take it alone?” Cahir asks and is met with a sigh from father.  
  
“Well, I’m not going to stay here and watch, am I?” Ceallach answers and rolls his eyes, causing Cahir to do the same as he watches his father head over to the door. “I’ll go get you some breakfast and then we’ll get you ready.”  
  
Cahir just grunts as Ceallach leaves the room, still not particularly enthused at the big spectacle of a royal wedding. At least he didn’t have to have chamberlains he didn’t know dressing him and despite some minor past faults, he did trust his father to do right by him. Montgomery was a trustworthy fellow in his own right, too, Cahir thinks as he undresses and lowers himself into the wooden tub.  
  
The water is slightly too hot but he pays it no mind, happy to sink into the bubbles that smell vaguely of juniper and peppermint. In trying not to fret about the crowds of nobility he will be expected to swear vows to Ciri in front of, his mind drifts off to thoughts of her. He wonders whether she will be doing the same as him, though he doubts it - how long did corsets take to get into anyway? He also finds himself thinking about the previous night and how it was truly real and not something that he had imagined or dreamed about.  
  
Ciri, to him, was an enigma. But, if she so wished for his company and to truly be with him, who was he to deny her? A fool, perhaps. So eager to love and a heart that was so easy to soar - it was and always would be his biggest downfall.  
  
Sighing, he leaves the embrace of the warm water and steps out, quickly drying off with a towel that had been left for him before he gets changed into a fresh pair of underclothes and plain black shirt, also left out for him. He’d have to get familiar with the new idea of having little to no privacy with servants coming in and out of the room whilst he was sleeping.  
  
The door to his room clicks open and Cahir pokes his head around the corner where his father is carrying a small plate of numerous slices of bread and butter. Quickly, he slips on his robe again and goes into the room, taking a piece of bread as he leans against one of the bed posts.  
  
“You need to brush your hair, you know?” Ceallach says as Cahir takes a large bite of his bread, shrugging. “Cahir.”  
  
“Alright.” He sighs, quickly swallowing the mouthful he was on before speaking up, “Have you seen anyone else yet today?”  
  
“You mean have I seen Cirilla?” Cealleach replies, raising a brow in Cahir’s general direction before he browses over some books that had been left near his bedside table. “No, I haven’t.”  
  
“I was inquiring about my siblings, also. And our Mother.”  
  
“They are well. Erynn and little Feena are very excitable.” He pauses and smiles warmly at Cahir who returns the smile in every way. “Dheran is less than thrilled that he has been asked to ride in carriage with you--”  
  
“Ah, yes. He wished a devil up mine and Montgomery’s arses last night. It was rather comical.” Cahir notes, starting his next piece of bread. Ceallach shakes his head, smiling.  
  
“Brianna also insisted she ride in the carriage with us.”  
  
“Brianna would.” Cahir moves from his position at the bedpost once he finishes his bread and goes to stand at the window - there’s not much to see through the glass but being nearer to the light makes him feel less light headed.  
  
“Come, Cahir. It won’t be disastrous like I know you’re thinking.” Celleach says just as there is a small knock on the door to which he opens, allowing Montgomery into the room who quickly bows before them. Cahir notices he has clothes with him and swallows thickly.  
  
“Father--”  
  
“Now is not the time for second thoughts, my boy.” Celleach makes his way over to Cahir who turns to face him before those reassuring hands clasp his shoulders.  
  
“I’m not having second thoughts, I’m just...scared of what the future will bring. What if things don’t work out? What if it is not enough for Nilfgaard? Loyalists still remain.” Cahir brings his voice to a lower tone, “And what you said about learning all after the wedding.” A chill runs down his spine as he recalls the eerie words the seller from Cintra’s night market had spoken but he keeps quiet.  
  
“Trust me. I would not have you brought here to see you killed, Cahir. Whatever happens, whatever you must go through, you will survive and no matter of all else, you will have made me proud.” Ceallach light squeezes his shoulders and Cahir nods with a shaky breath. He had only ever wanted to make his father proud.  
  
“We should get ready, then.” Cahir shuffles out of his father’s embrace to gesture at Montgomery, who is still standing near the door holding the ceremony attire.  
  
Both the chamberlain and Ceallach nod, his father leading him over to the next room with a hand to guide him at his shoulder.  
  
Montgomery works quickly and quietly which Cahir is rather thankful for. It doesn’t take him long to dress and he is nervous to even look at himself in the mirror, never mind walk in front of hundreds and be paraded around the city afterwards. Sensing his unease, Montgomery hands him a brush with a sympathetic smile and Cahir takes it from him - maybe a tad angrier than he wanted and brushes it through his hair, taming those wild raven curls of his.  
  
Behind him, Ceallach straightens out the tunic that goes down to his waist before dragging the mirror in front of them as Montgomery tactfully steps aside.  
  
“Are you ready, son?” Celleach asks as Cahir not so gracefully throws the hairbrush to the table on the other side of the room and misses.   
  
“I suppose I am ready as I will ever be, Father.” Cahir sighs, clasping his hands in front of him as Ceallach pulls off the sheet covering the mirror and casts it to the side.  
  
Cahir barely recognises the person in the mirror and he is unsure whether it was merely because of the fine tailoring or something more. The breeches are a simple warm black fabric, boots also rather simple and matching in colour - the tunic is mainly black also but the sleeves are made from a shimmering fabric that switches from black to gold depending on the light. On the chest of his tunic is a lion creeping forward with a paw raised - the symbol of Cintra. Cahir notes that this crest had a small change being that next to the lion was the Great Sun of Nilfgaard - he has to laugh lightly at how apt the image of the lion clawing the Great Sun was.  
  
“I don’t look like myself.” Cahir notes as Montgomery gathers a cloak that was thrown over a chair.  
  
“No, you don’t.” Ceallach agrees before continuing, “You look like the ruler you are going to be one day.”  
  
Cahir pays his father a quick glance as Montgomery pins the cloak to him, carefully. The cloak itself is a light grey and he can’t help but note how well it would compliment Ciri’s hair. Though, what makes him smile the most is the cloak pin - a well placed Vicovarian star. Despite having the Great Sun as the leading symbol, seeing just one part of the Vicovarian crest has made him all that more calmer.  
  
“We should be heading out soon, my Lords.” Montgomery pipes up and Cahir gives his father another quick, nervous glance.  
  
Cellach, as always, places his hand on Cahir’s shoulder, leading him out of the bedroom.  
  
“For the last time, then.” Cahir sighs, wistfully and Ceallach gives his arm a light, reassuring squeeze as they walk down the hall and into the common room which is almost freezing cold due to the doors being wide open. A quick glance towards the doors almost sends him running - a decorated black carriage already waiting to take him to the temple.  
  
Near the doors stands his family - Mawr is crying, as he expected and he walks overs, pulling her into a tight hug. After a few seconds, Cahir feels the arms of one of his siblings wrap around him too, he’s not sure which - Dheran, perhaps? Whoever they belong to, they are soon joined by the remaining ones, Cahir feeling Feena wrap her arms delicately around his knees. It warms his heart to think of them all, standing in the castle of Cintra, together.  
  
“No more tears, Mawr.” Ceallach says, gently tapping his wife’s arm though Cahir notes there is no much sternness in his voice - it is more like a softness or a warmth he is not too familiar with coming from his father. “We must be heading off. Cahir cannot be late for his first wedding.”  
  
“I hope it is the only one…” Erynn sighs dreamily as they separate from the hug and places a hand over her heart, all theatrical. “My brother, marrying a Princess…”  
  
“It’s a proper fairytale like the ones Mama and Brianna tell!” Feena joins in now and Erynn wraps an arm around her younger sister, both of them sighing in that way only children can.  
  
“Oh, please…” Brianna laughs from her spot but there’s a small glimmer of sadness in her eyes. After all, she is losing another brother.  
  
“Do you think you and Princess Cirilla will love each other forever?” Feena inquires and Cahir sighs, bending down on one knee to reach her height.  
  
“Or love each other a-- Ow!” Dheran rubs his ribs and glares at Brianna.   
  
“I think,” Cahir begins but not before sending a glare in Dheran’s direction, “Well - I hope that Cirilla and I will be happy, yes. But above all, I want this marriage to make _you_ happy. And I want you to be safe. There will be no more violence between Nilfgaard and Cintra in your lifetime. I promise you this, Feena.” 

Feena nods though Cahir knows she will never truly understand, not at this age. Gently, Brianna taps his shoulder and he knows it’s time. He stands up, taking one last look at his family before he takes a deep breath.  
  
“I will see you at the Temple.”  
  
“Yes,” Mawr nods, confirming. “We’ll be there before you are.” She lays a reassuring hand on Cahir’s shoulder as he nods.  
  
The steps out of the castle doors come easy to him and he smiles at Montgomery who opens the door for him with a quickly spoken message of good luck. Ceallach clambers in next and sits opposite him, Dheran is next who chooses to sit next to Cahir leaving Brianna no choice but to sit next to their father.  
  
Cahir assumes it is Kacper driving and notes how once again, things seemed to be coming full circle - the same man who brought him in is also leading him to the next life. The carriage soon pulls away and once they leave the castle gates, Cahir can hear the bells of the temple ringing in the distance.  
  
“They’ll take us around the streets of the city, first.” Ceallach says out loud, capturing the attention of all the siblings. “Your mother and the girls have to arrive and be seated before we do.”  
  
“Yes…” Cahir says, glancing out of the window as the driver takes a rather sharp left into some bit of woodland. There is frost on the ground and the windows of the carriage are slightly steamed from all four of them being all but crushed together. Cahir goes to wipe the window with his sleeve and Ceallach swats his arm away, doing it himself. 

“Do you know what Nilfgaardians will be in attendance, Father?” Brianna inquiries as she fiddles with the hem of her dress - black and gold, of course.  
  
“I’m not quite sure.” Ceallach begins, silencing Dheran who was going to make a witty remark by holding up the palm of his hand. “No loyalists, for certain.”  
  
“That’s a bit of a given, isn’t it?” Dheran finally inputs, sinking back into the seat ever so slightly as Brianna glares.  
  
“Yes. Thank you, Dheran. I suspect Sweers, d’Arvy, Fitz-Oesterlen. Perhaps, Houvenaghel.”  
  
“Pardon?” Cahir, Brianna and Dheran both say in perfect unison.  
  
“Dominik Houvenaghel?” Cahir finally manages to spit out once he is over his slight shock. “The Dominik Houvenaghel? Leo Bonhart’s cousin?”  
  
“Yes, I was shocked at first, too. He is a respected man now. He has opened many orphanages and hospitals in Nilfgaard. The Emperor thinks highly of him.” Ceallach explains, Dheran giving Cahir a look from the corner of his eye.  
  
“I suppose I should give him the benefit of the doubt.” Cahir subsides, relaxing in his seat.  
  
“You should. Bonhart is dead, either way. Men change if a family member dies - we know this better than anyone.” Ceallach says and Cahir knows it is the end of this particular subject.  
  
Outside, they are now in the streets of Cintra and Cahir can see faces of the people flashing by. Luckily, he cannot hear any insults, just cheering and clapping but he is too nervous to truly listen. He knows that Cintra dislikes Nilfgaard but perhaps they too are tired of war.  
  
“They seem to like you plenty.” Brianna notes, doing that strange habit of hers where she always seemed to know what was on his mind.  
  
“They barely know me or even what I look like.”  
  
“This Kingdom loves its royal family, especially Cirilla. They want her to be happy and they are weary of war on top of that. It is a day of celebration that finally marks the end of violence. Unnecessary violence.” Ceallach ends the current conversation once again and Cahir goes back to peering out of the window, the sound of the bells drawing closer.   
  
“Do you think the others will have arrived?” Dheran questions, staring at their Father’s forehead.  
  
“Yes. We’re almost there ourselves.”  
  
Brianna must sense Cahir’s change of uneasiness and leans forward, resting her hand on his.  
  
“It’ll be alright, Cahir. Try not to fret too much. Cirilla won’t want to touch your sweaty palms at the altar.”  
  
“Brianna!” Cahir whines, moving his hand out of her reach though he does laugh a little.  
  
The carriage gradually draws to a halt and Cahir finds himself in a moment of internal panic as the door is opened by a steward. The siblings spend a moment looking at each other before Celleach speaks up.  
  
“Brianna, you need to get out first.” Celleach directs and she nods, taking the steward’s hand who helps her out onto the ground.  
  
“I’d like Dheran by my side. If that is alright with you, Father.” Cahir blurts out and Celleach smiles, quickly resting his hand on both of his son’s shoulders.  
  
“Of course. Good luck, my boys. I love you both. Never forget that.” He gives their shoulders a quick squeeze before ducking out of the carriage and next to Brianna. Cahir watches as his father links his arm through with Brianna and they walk off, up the short path into the temple.  
  
Dheran looks at Cahir briefly, questioning and Cahir nods, not needing to say anything for his brother to understand. Rather quickly, Dheran gets himself out of the carriage and waits for him. Cahir takes a deep breath, relaxing himself before rising out of his seat and clambering out of the carriage being all that more careful to not fall on his face.  
  
As Cahir’s feet hit the cold ground, a cheer erupts from a small crowd that was gathered at each side of the Temple’s steps. Cahir almost jumps at the sound, not realising there were people waiting outside - he didn’t think there would be anyone wanting to take a look at him.  
  
“Ready then?” Dheran asks and Cahir finishes straightening his cloak before nodding at his brother, a gentle smile on his lips.  
  
“As I will ever be.” He says, voice wavering slightly as Dheran starts to walk with Cahir following suit so they were able to walk side by side. The walk is not very long and Dheran stays silent for the most part - how reassuring his brother was.  
  
Before they reach the steps, Dheran nudges his ribs discreetly with an elbow and Cahir looks over in the direction his brother is looking, noticing two young girls with their mother. They couldn’t have been much older than five and they are grinning, waving in their direction. Cahir sends them a small wave and Dheran joins in, making the girls blush so fiercely he can see it from the distance they are standing and from in between the numerous wooden barricades the royal guard had set up.  
  
“Here we go…” Dheran whispers out of the corner of his mouth as they reach the top of the steps, finally at the temple entrance. The bells are louder now and from inside, he can hear the troubadours playing a sweet melody on their instruments.  
  
“Great Sun, I am nervous…” Cahir notes as they start walking down the aisle of the temple.  
  
“I couldn’t tell.” Dheran keeps his voice low and Cahir thinks to himself how he would have pushed him into one of the temple's wooden pews had they not had the eyes of the nobility on them.  
  
The Temple is a remarkable site, much better than the churches they had in Nilfgaard. There are rows of wooden pews on each side of the long aisle. On the right are Cintran lords and ladies, along with other close kingdom nobles and friends of Calanthe and Cirilla. On the left, there are Nilfgaardian nobles, looking notably more empty than the Northern side.  
  
Cahir recognises a few of the families Ceallach had said would be in attendance but notices an empty pew.  
  
“Isn’t that where the Fitz-Oesterlen family should be sitting?” Dheran mutters, taking the words from Cahir’s mouth.  
  
“Yes, I believe so…” He trails off and tries to pay it no mind as they pass the rest of their family, Erynn and Feena looking like they may burst with excitement. Brianna offers both the brothers a sympathetic smile whilst Mawr is crying again, Ceallach’s hand linked with hers.  
  
There’s a small wooden podium that Cahir and Dheran just manage to quickly stand on as another fanfare begins, this one for the Queen. From the position he is standing, Cahir can directly see the Cintran nobles and his stomach flips as he doesn’t recognise a single one.  
  
Calanthe looks every inch a queen as she makes her way down the aisle, nodding occasionally to the certain Cintran noble. What surprises Cahir is she sends a nod in Ceallach and Mawr’s direction - was that a slight smile? A sly one, definitely. Calanthe makes her final position in front of Cahir and Dheran to which they bow their heads, respectfully and she does in return.  
  
“Do not make me regret this, Nilfgaardian.” Calanthe mutters just low enough for him to hear as she walks past them to her throne. Cahir has become quite accustomed to her threats and simply holds his chin that little higher, focusing on the once again loud fanfare. The notes change briefly to a lower set and Cahir knows it is time.  
  
Cahir moves to his position in the front of the altar, Dheran on his right with their backs turned away from the entrance. In Cintra, the groom was not allowed to see his bride until she was in front of him and instead Cahir focused on the large stained glass window that took up the back section of the Temple. However, there was no custom that forbade Dheran from looking and he was openly peering over his shoulder, a smile on his face.  
  
“She looks beautiful.” Dheran notes, Cahir and the High Priestess of the Temple offer a glare in his direction at the same time. “What? I can admire her beauty, if I wish.”  
  
“You are doing it to make me nervous.” Cahir growls low under his breath and Dheran carries on looking despite the threat. The High Priestess offers Cahir a sympathetic smile which he returns. What was her name again? Justinia?  
  
“She’s almost here.” Dheran whispers as he turns back to face the altar, finally doing his assigned job correctly and Cahir turns slightly to the side to wait for her arrival.  
  
Ciri is dressed, of course, in white. The gown itself is beautiful, the front embroidered with little diamonds and lace. The sleeves wrap just below her shoulders, also made of lace and at her neck hangs a choker of the same kind of fabric. A veil covers her face and it is attached to a tiara, delicately weaved into her hair that falls into a braid down her back, forget me nots entwined into the delicate weavings of her silver locks. The veil’s train goes along the floor in a delicate pool, the edges of it peppered with diamonds - Calanthe had spared no expense for her heir.  
  
Cahir holds his hand out and Eist, who he had only just noticed was by Ciri’s side, places her hand into his before bowing to them both and walking ahead to his seat beside Calanthe. Cahir thinks that for a brief moment, the Skelliger looked overwhelmed with emotion.  
  
Carefully, Cahir leads her forward, gazing at her the entire time. They say royalty are incarnations of the Gods themselves and Cahir is inclined to agree. Justinia clears her throat discreetly to capture his attention and Cahir almost jumps into action, carefully taking Ciri’s veil and lifting it from over her face and folding it over her tiara so it hangs down her back instead.  
  
His breath foolishly stops in his throat as he looks at her. She looks more divine than she ever has though he cannot say why - perhaps it is the way those impossible eyes of her gaze up at him or the light blush on her cheeks or quite possibly, the soft smile on those lips he wanted nothing more than to place a kiss on.  
  
“Hi.” She says softly, for his ears only.  
  
“Hello.” He replies, smiling at her as they turn to face the altar. Regretfully, he follows instruction and releases Ciri’s hand from his grip as Justinia clears her throat, louder this time, to gather the Temple’s attention.  
  
“Your Royal Highnesses,” Justinia begins, bowing her head respectfully to the thrones at the side of them. Cahir takes a quick glance over his shoulder and notices Dheran has gone to his newly allocated seat beside their family. Good. “My lord and ladies - we stand here today, in the presence of both Gods and men to witness the union of man and wife. One flesh, one heart, one soul.”  
  
Cahir casts his gaze across discreetly to Ciri and notices that she looks almost as nervous as he does. Ciri must sense him looking at her and she turns her head slightly to offer him a playful narrowing of her eyes. He presses his lips together and casts his gaze back down to the floor, trying not to lose focus or fall prey to her teasing.  
  
“If we may start with Cirilla,” Justinia calls back their attention and Ciri turns to face Cahir, offering him both of her hands which he takes gently, “Please repeat after me…”  
  
“I, Cirilla Fiona Elen Riannon take thee, Cahir Mawr Dyffryn aep Ceallach to be my husband.” Cahir focuses only on Ciri’s repetition of the words, giving her hands a light, reassuring squeeze which she returns as she takes a breath. “I promise to love him, comfort him, honor and keep him, in sickness and health. I promise to forsake all others and only keep to him, for as long as we both shall live.”  
  
Cahir’s palms feel slightly sweaty under Ciri’s grasp and he has to take several breaths to keep himself calm. The vows leaving Ciri’s lips had caused his nervousness to flare back up and he felt he was trembling under the weight of the words.  
  
“Cahir, if you will repeat after me…” Justinia speaks loud and clear, Cahir taking a quick look at the High Priestess before returning his gaze to Ciri and only her.  
  
“I, Cahir Mawr Dyffryn aep Ceallach take thee, Cirilla Fiona Elen Riannon to be my wife.” This time Ciri returns the gesture of squeezing his hands and the corner of his mouth pulls into a small smile before he continues. “I promise to love her, comfort her, honor and keep her, in sickness and health. I promise to forsake all others and only keep to her, for as long as we both shall live.”  
  
Both of them turn their gazes to Justinia who offers them a warm smile, her hands clasped together tightly. Cahir hadn’t realised she knew the vows from memory and had assumed she was reading from a book. He pays no mind to anyone else in the Temple, though he can hear faint whispers coming from the pews.  
  
“If you will now both repeat after me once more, starting with Cirilla.” The Priestess instructs and the couple turn to look at each other again.  
  
“I promise to have and to hold from this day forward, for better or for worse, for richer or poorer and to love and cherish until death may do us part.” Ciri is as confident as ever, chin held high as she recites the vows and she holds Cahir’s gaze the entire time. There is no need for a wedded man to wear a ring in Cintra and so Ciri releases his hands carefully and as discreetly as possible so that Cahir may collect the ring intended for her from a cushion placed upon the altar.  
  
“I too promise to have and to hold from this day forward, for better or for worse, for richer or poorer and to love and cherish until death may do us part.” Cahir finishes and he gathers the ring from the cushion, taking Ciri’s left hand with his own and carefully pushing the ring onto her fourth finger. He takes a brief second to admire how it looks on her hand- it is made of gold and in the shape of a royal crown. A gift from Emperor Calveit. Once it is on her finger, he looks up to meet her gaze and luckily, she is smiling at him, making his heart flutter in his chest.  
  
“With this binding,” Justina leans forward just as Ciri grabs a hold of Cahir’s hand, entwining their fingers as the Priestess places and ties a silk sash around their joined hands. The fabric is beautifully crafted and is decorated with the Ciri’s family sigil and Cahir’s own. “I link the House of Raven with the House of Dyffryn by unity of marriage. It is my pleasure to announce this couple as husband and wife, from this day until the end of their days.”  
  
No sooner has Justinia unlinked their hands, an organ somewhere in the Temple begins to play and the guests all rise to their feet. Cahir does as he was told and keeps hold of Ciri’s hand as they begin to walk out, ensuring to follow custom and keep their linked hands at chest height.  
  
As they begin their walk out, the nobility in the pews bow their heads as they pass and Cahir feels strange at the sight, his mind running a thousand miles a minute. Cautiously, Cahir takes a quick glance behind him and smiles at the sight of Eist walking with Mawr and behind them, Calanthe walking with Celleach.  
  
Ciri peers up at him through those impossibly long lashes and he swears he could melt into the floor at her gaze, or even by just being honoured enough to be looked at by her in a way he very much didn’t deserve. They finally reach the arch of the Temple’s entrance and he feels as if the walk back down the aisle had taken hours, the sun much lower than when he had arrived. There’s a loud cheer that echoes from the gathered crowds and next to him, Ciri laughs. He would never get enough of that sound.  
  
“What are you waiting for, boy?” Eist’s voice calls his attention, his hand colliding with Cahir’s shoulder in a light hit. “Give her a kiss.”  
  
Cahir hesitates for a brief second but Ciri doesn’t and he just has time to bend down a little before her lips capture his own. The kiss finally confirms that last night definitely wasn’t a dream and he smiles, almost pathetically as he pulls away, the Cintran people still cheering as Ciri all but pulls him into the carriage waiting for them.  
  
Being in Ciri’s presence and hers alone soothes him and he relaxes into the carriage seat, still holding onto her hand. The carriage is white outside and in, sweet smelling flowers are also placed in the four corners of the inside.  
  
“I am glad all that is over.” Ciri says as the carriage starts to move and she busies herself by waving gently out of the window at some of the folk still cheering and clapping.  
  
“Yes, me too.” He sighs, letting out a breath he didn’t realise he was holding - no wonder he felt light headed. “All those eyes just staring at you. It’s awful.”  
  
“I must confess to you, I’m not sure how well I’ll adapt to married life. I was never particularly fond of the idea, much less an arranged marriage. But--” Ciri pauses and Cahir raises a brow at her.  
  
“But…?”  
  
“If it has perks like last night, I’m sure I could quickly get accustomed to it.” She grins cheekily up at him and he has to laugh, pinching the bridge of his nose comically.  
  
“You are impossible, Princess.”  
  
“I wouldn’t be as wonderful to have for company if I were not impossible.” She states and he cannot do anything but nod in agreement.  
  
“What happens now?” He inquires and Ciri shrugs her shoulders, running her thumb across the back of his hand.  
  
“We have the rest of the evening to ourselves. Probably confined to our bedroom, however. Oh! I hope they’ve brought some hot water in the bath ready for our return…”  
  
“You and that bloody bath.” Cahir mutters though she hears him and hits his shoulder. “Ow! What did I say?”  
  
“Now who is being impossible, Nilfgaardian?” Ciri chuckles as she talks before pulling his chin down between her thumb and forefinger, capturing his lips in a sweet kiss as the carriage turns a corner.   
  
He allows himself to be lost in the moment, enjoying the feeling of her lips against his again. How lucky he was to be here and how undeserving he was to be held by her, no matter the manner.   
  
Her hand trails up from his chin and cups his cheek so she is able to deepen the kiss. He shuffles in his seat, moving closer as she leans back against the inside of the carriage.   
  
"Ouch, Cahir--" Ciri yelps, pulling away.  
  
"Shit, what--?"  
  
"You're sitting on my veil." She laughs as he lifts up, quickly moving the fabric from underneath before drawing her back to him, brushing their noses together.  
  
"I'm sorry, Princess." He laughs too, barely noticing the carriage grinding to a stop on the castle's gravel.   
  
The carriage halts just outside the door and it is Montgomery who opens the door to the vehicle, bowing politely as he helps Cahir get out.  
  
“My Lord and Lady. I offer my congratulations.”  
  
“Thank you, Montgomery. It means much coming from you.” Cahir rests a palm on his shoulder with his spare hand, the other helping guide Ciri out of the carriage.  
  
There is a line of castle staff on each side of the doorway, clapping and cheering, along with several loud woops from the kitchen staff as they head inside the doors. Ciri is smiling the entire time and Cahir finds it is quite contagious. Inside the door, Calanthe and Eist wait and just seeing their figures makes Cahir feel a little uneasy. Ciri must sense his feelings and squeezes his hand again before she goes marching ahead, bowing to her grandparents, which he also copies. 

“Don’t worry, we just wanted to offer you our congratulations.” Calanthe speaks up first, taking the tiara and veil from Ciri’s head. “If you truly are the Lion Cub of Cintra, you’ll want to be out of that corset as soon as possible.” Ciri nods her head and a light smile dances across Calanthe’s features. “And Cahir, if Eist has taught you anything these past weeks, it is how to successfully avoid any event where you have to show your face for longer than an hour.” Cahir finds himself chuckling at Calanthe’s words that he almost forgets this may be the first time she addressed him by name directly.  
  
“Thank you, Grandmother.”  
  
“Thank you, Your Majesty.”  
  
“No need to thank me.” Calanthe retorts, placing her hand on Ciri’s shoulder. “You deserve a night alone, as all newlyweds do.”  
  
“Enjoy...” Eist teases as they begin to walk away, causing Cahir to narrow his eyes in the direction of the King’s exit. Curse him.  
  
Ciri’s hand tightens its hold on his own, practically dragging down the corridors and up the flights of stairs leading to the royal quarters. Once they enter their room, it is almost the same as when they examined it the other day, except the wooden trunk containing his clothing had been moved up here and his clothes emptied into a newly added wardrobe. There are now two robes delicately placed over the armchairs in front of the fire which is now burning fiercely, the room warm and welcoming.  
  
“Oh, they’ve filled the bath!” Ciri’s rather excited voice sounds from the wash room and Cahir chuckles, hanging his heavy cloak up on the wooden pegs placed on the right of the main door, along with pulling his tunic over his head so he’s left with just his linen shirt.  
  
Ciri comes bounding out of the door and turns her back to him when he faces her.  
  
“Help me out of this bloody thing?” She gestures as best she can to the laces of the corset and Cahir obliges. His fingers find it difficult to undo the first knot but once it is out, the rest of the laces come easy to him. Once he reaches the bottom of the lacing, he gives the sides of the corset a light pull, loosening it a little.  
  
“Is that okay for you?” He asks, pressing a kiss to the point between her shoulders.  
  
“Yes,” She turns to look at him from over her shoulder, flashing one of those smiles he had come to hold so dear. “You can go ahead and get in. I’ll join you once I’ve hung my dress up properly.”  
  
“Wanting to keep it safe?”  
  
“Well, it’s just in case I ever gain a second hus--”  
  
“Alright, alright.” He laughs, moving from behind her and over to the door. Once inside, he rids himself of his shirt, boots, breeches and underclothes before sinking into the rather hot water. 

There’s steam wafting around in the room but Cahir doesn’t mind, the warmth welcoming on his muscles he didn’t realise were aching despite his bath only a few hours ago. The foam is scented and he inhales deeply, filling his lungs; lavender and wild orchid. Cahir allows himself to sink further, head resting against the rim of the wooden tub but he remembers to draw his knees up to his chest, allowing room for Ciri.  
  
Ciri all but slinks into the room and he barely has time to cast an appreciative gaze over her figure before she too sinks into the hot water opposite him, sighing.  
  
“Are you alright?” Ciri asks once she has settled in and he relaxes his legs, tangling them with hers under the water.  
  
“Yes. I just,” He begins, shrugging his shoulders, almost in defeat. “Sometimes I feel as if I’m living in a dream, here, with you. I have to pinch myself in order to understand I am not dreaming.”  
  
“I can think of a few things that would make you aware this is very real.”  
  
“Oh, I know.” He chuckles, watching as she grabs a sponge from the side of the tub and soaks it into the water. “I never thought we would have this.”  
  
“Did you really believe I hated you?” She inquires, placing the sponge to her shoulder and squeezing it, the soapy water running down her arm. Cahir finds it oddly tantalising.  
  
“You did stomp on my foot.”  
  
“Ah, yes.” Ciri pauses her washing for a moment to burst into a bout of laughter and Cahir, despite his attempt at seeming annoyed, joins in as well.  
  
“I’m still unsure of how to take you. You are a mystery to me, Ciri. Something I wish to unravel, if you would let me.” He grabs a sponge, soaking it in the soapy water the same as she did.  
  
“I’m here with you and I’m unravelling. Slowly.” She puts her sponge back into the water, letting it float in between them both. “You say I’m a mystery to you, do you not think it works both ways?”  
  
Cahir says nothing, settling for raising a brow at her, querying.  
  
“I tried to block you out at first, I admit. But here you are...” She swallows thickly as she finishes talking and Cahir feels the flustered heat crawling up his neck.  
  
“I thin-- No. I wish to be with you and be by your side, Ciri. If you will have me.”  
  
“It doesn’t come easy to me. Intimacy. Love. I’m used to quick affairs and when I thought I was in love it soon turned out, I wasn’t. Don’t expect things from me that you would from any other woman.”  
  
“I know, Ciri. I know.” He places his hand on her knee in the water, giving it a light squeeze which makes her jerk back, chuckling. So the Princess _was_ ticklish.  
  
“Those vows in the Temple. Let me make my own.” She has a stern look on her face and Cahir knows just how people will feel when they face her in a court eventually. “Promise me these things: make me laugh when I feel defeated. When I am scared, encourage me but do not act for me. Ever. Allow me to be angry, allow me to vent. When I wish to grieve, comfort me and be with me. And never lie to me. That’s all I ask of you.” 

“I promise you, Ciri. I’ll do as you ask for as long as you ask it of me.” To reassure her, he takes her hand, pressing a kiss to her knuckles and he looks up at her to see her smiling. 

“At the market, Cahir. When you looked pale...What truly happened? Be honest with me. I could read you like a book.” 

Cahir sighs, sinking back into the water which was starting to get cold. 

“The woman I bought your locket from,” As he speaks, Ciri places her hand on her chest as if she had just remembered she wasn’t wearing the gift. “She said Destiny had me marked.” 

“I believe Destiny has every poor soul marked. Is that what frightened you?” 

“No, she said some sort of message or prophecy. I’m not sure which.” 

“Go on…”

“She said, be weary of the snowfall or your blood will decorate the Steps. He who the Emperor cast aside comes for you and what he is owed.” Cahir relaxes with the words out in the open between them.

“They don’t mean anything to me. But I wish you had been honest with me.” Ciri sighs and Cahir makes note of the brief flicker of anger that flashes in her eyes but it disappears as quickly as it came. 

“Forgive me?” 

“Hmm, I’ll think about it.” She teases, fishing her sponge from the water and putting it back where she got it from. Ciri quickly reaches over a little further for a towel, unravelling it as she stands up and quickly wraps it around herself. Cahir sighs and it causes her to look over her shoulder as she gets out, smiling defiantly.  
  
He watches her for a moment as she perches rather delicately on the edge of one of the dressers in the room, unbraiding her hair and letting the tiny blue flowers fall onto the floor. Quickly, he finishes washing himself and stands up from the bath, gathering a towel and drying himself off. Despite his back being turned to her, he can feel her eyes staring at him and he turns his head slightly to look and his suspicions are confirmed.  
  
“It is awfully rude to stare, you know, Princess?”  
  
“Not at one’s husband.” She replies, matter of factly.  
  
“Oh? Is that some kind of law in Cintra?” He forces the words out of his mouth despite his heart thumping wildly against his ribs.  
  
“Yes, I made it. Just now.”  
  
He shakes his head, smiling as he wraps the towel around his waist. Ciri is focusing on brushing the waves from her hair and he seizes the opportunity to stride over to her and lift her off the dresser, hands curling around her thighs as her legs wrap around his waist.  
  
“The bed will get damp!” She makes her plea but the laughter bubbling in her throat makes him think she doesn’t mean it all too much.  
  
“Damn the bed.” He mutters just as her lips find his and they collide with the bed.  
  
Ciri shuffles up the bed, pulling the curtains around it as she goes and Cahir does the same at the opposite end, ensuring as much privacy for themselves as they could. She makes short work of getting out of her towel and throws it out the side of the bed, Cahir’s soon following before she finds him lips again, cupping his face as she pulls him down to her.  
  
His heart thumps against his chest and he kisses her deeply, slowly. Ciri wraps her arms around his shoulders and her legs around his waist as they become one. He rocks slightly awkwardly at first but they soon find a rhythm that suits them both as he buries his face in her neck, his gasps almost in time with her own. 

Ciri holds him as close as possible as she meets her release, nails digging into his back and her body quivering. Cahir presses his lips to her neck as he chases his own end, burying his head impossibly into her shoulder as he groans, her fingers tangling in his hair.  
  
“Let go, Cahir…” She murmurs into his ear just as he comes with a cry, his muscles trembling as he puts his arms on the bed to stop himself from crushing her with his weight.  
  
It takes him a few moments to stop seeing stars and his head to return from its spinning state before he rolls to the side, wrapping an arm around her waist and pulling her close to him. Ciri pulls the sheets over them, snuggling her back into his embrace. He hums as he rests his head on her shoulder, placing fleeting kisses on her skin there before he gets truly comfortable.  
  
“Cahir?”  
  
“Mm?” He manages, the lids of his eyes getting heavy.  
  
“What you said the other day,” She pauses to look at him the best she could in this position over her shoulder, “about me being dear to you? Did you truly mean it?”  
  
“With my entire being, Ciri.”  
  
She gazes up at him and smiles, gently. There is an uncharted fear in the back of her eyes that he chases away briefly with a soft kiss. 

Ciri returns to her previous position and he once again buries his head in the crook of her neck, admiring the smell of the bath oil etched into her skin.  
  
Cahir finds himself overcome by sleep rather quickly and it is through no fault of his own that he doesn’t notice the slow fall of snowflakes out of the window.


	7. Chapter 7

“What are you doing up?”  
  
He doesn’t realise she is up and out of bed until her chin is resting on his shoulder, her hands tying the robe he had left warming in front of the fire around her waist. 

“Reading. The Blue Pearl.” He replies, turning his head ever so slightly as he wiggles the book in his hand.  
  
“Essi Daven?”  
  
Cahir nods and she smiles, taking the book from his hand and peering over the cover.  
  
“I used to read it when I was younger. I cried. A lot.” He presses a fleeting kiss to her cheek and her mouth twitches into a slight smile. “Couldn’t sleep?”  
  
“No,” Ciri sets the book on the table before perching on the arm of the chair he was sitting in. Instinctively, he wraps an arm around her waist, his thumb running up and down on the fabric of her robe. “I was twitching and woke myself up. Got up to relieve myself, saw it was snowing and sleep wouldn’t come again after that.”  
  
“I saw the snow.” She mutters, trailing her fingers through his hair and his eyes flutter shut at her soothing touch. “You were having a bad dream earlier? With the twitching?”  
  
“How do you know about my nightmares?”  
  
“Magda told me.” He shoots her a quick look. “What? I asked her for gossip.”  
  
“You Cintran women...I don’t think I’ll ever get used to you.” She laughs a little and Cahir shakes his head, smiling.  
  
“Do you wish to tell me about it?”  
  
Cahir shrugs. “It was rather gruesome.”  
  
“That’s alright.”  
  
“I was in a place I’ve seen before - marble stairs, a statue. You were there this time, except you looked different. Had a scar on your face.” He pauses to cup her cheek and runs his thumb across the left side of her face where he had dreamt of the mark. “There was another girl with us who I didn’t recognise and I was insisting on dying for you. I did, in the end.”  
  
“And?” She inquiries, a hint of weariness in her voice.  
  
“I was lying in a pool of blood at the foot of this statue. I looked like a sacrifice.”  
  
“It won’t come to pass.” She reassures and he finds that he believes her wholeheartedly. “Come back to bed?”  
  
Cahir nods and she makes her way back to their bed, the curtains shifting as she crawls into the left side which she had claimed as her own. He joins her quickly, keeping his robe on as he climbs under the covers that are now cold due to being empty for so long.  
  
They lie facing each other and Cahir smiles as his eyes trail over her face, constantly taking in each slight blemish, the curve of her cheekbones or the way she has three permanent but still slightly faded lines between her eyebrows from scrunching her nose up all the time. His foolish heart hopes briefly she may be doing the same to him but there is no beauty in his face like on her own.  
  
“Want to hear a story to take your mind off things?” She asks after a short while and he nods, putting a strand of her hair behind her ear.  
  
“Always, Ciri.”  
  
She takes a few seconds to get herself comfortable, contagious excitement on her features.  
  
“For my eighteenth birthday, I wanted an esteemed bard to play at the celebration. Sadly, esteemed bards were somewhat hard to come by and I had to settle for Dandelion instead. Have you heard of him?”  
  
Cahir shakes his head. “Never.”  
  
“Perhaps you’re lucky then. It was a disaster.” Ciri laughs before she can start recalling and Cahir finds himself laughing along with her, lightly nudging her after a few quick moments for her to continue. “It took at least three hours for things to kick off. After a few tankards of ale, one of our Cintran lords decided Dandelion was the infamous bard that had knocked up his wife two years prior--”  
  
“No!”  
  
“Yes! All hell broke loose. Lords and ladies started fighting, Dandelion escaped out of someone’s bedroom window with his breeches at his ankles because he was busy making acquaintances with one of Grandmother’s ladies-in-waiting!”  
  
“Ciri, you must be making this up.”  
  
“I would never _lie_!” She laughs loudly, hitting his arm as she does. “I thoroughly enjoyed the escapades. Much more than his performance, at least. Eist found it very entertaining too.”  
  
“I expect nothing less from the both of you.” He chuckles, moving his head to sit it more comfortably on his pillow. “What happened to Calanthe’s lady?”  
  
“She doesn’t work here anymore. In fact, Grandmother doesn’t have ladies-in-waiting anymore. They bring too much trouble, she said.”  
  
“I think, perhaps, she is correct.”  
  
“You can say that again.”  
  
“I think, per-”  
  
“I didn’t mean literally, you oaf!” Ciri shoves him lightly and they both dissolve into laughter again.  
  
“I wish we could stay like this forever.” For once, he doesn’t regret his words and she sighs, wistfully.  
  
“No royal duties, no talking to pompous nobles, certainly no corsets and spending the day in bed with you? I'd like that too.”  
  
His heart leaps, flies, somersaults and he can do nothing but blink because all words have ceased to exist. Ciri leans towards him, her lips brushing his own so lightly he barely registers them. She remains close to him, noses brushing and her hand on his cheek - his breathing quickens, heat flushes his cheeks and nervousness pools in the bottom of his stomach, slowly spreading like vines--  
  
“Ciri, I--”  
  
There’s a loud, sharp knock on the door and Cahir sighs, frustrated. Ciri chuckles at his frustration though she doesn’t move her hand from his cheek until he lies back.  
  
“They’ll go away if we pretend to be asleep.” She lies back too, head resting on his shoulder as she takes his hands in hers. He takes a second to admire how the gold ring looks on her finger, smiling as he allows his fingers to brush over it before bringing her hand up to his lips and leaving a kiss. “What were you saying?”  
  
“Um, --”  
  
There’s another knock, louder this time and Ciri huffs as she clambers over him and out of the bed. Cahir sits up in the bed and rubs his eyes, more out of frustration at himself than tiredness instead of listening to the conversation at the door.  
  
It takes a few moments before he hears the door shut and Ciri’s head pokes in between the curtains. He notes a small look of concern on her face and it makes him feel uneasy.  
  
“Come, we’re being summoned.” There’s no sign of concern in her voice but he knows that it is easy to hide.  
  
“Where to?” He asks as she opens the curtains of the bed, allowing him to step out, the wooden floor cold on his bare feet.  
  
“The council room.” Ciri says as she hurriedly gets dressed, slipping a plain looking skirt and shirt on before rather roughly dragging a brush through her ashen waves.  
  
“Do we know what for?” She shrugs in his direction and he sighs, in defeat and gets himself dressed, also sticking to plain clothing due to not having much time to plan an outfit for the day.  
  
“I’m not so sure. I don’t remember the last time we held a council.” Ciri smoothes out her skirt before holding her hand out to him. He obliges and she pulls him towards her, his hands wrapping around her waist. 

She is not that much smaller than him - her head fits perfectly under his chin as he draws in her against him.  
  
“You’re worried, aren’t you?” Her voice is muffled against his chest.  
  
“Yes.”  
  
“Told you I could read you like a book.” Ciri tilts her head up and he presses a kiss to her nose, making her scrunch it up and move away though she is smiling ever so slightly. “Come, I don’t want you getting into trouble.”  
  
“So if we’re late, it is automatically my fault?”  
  
“A Princess is never late. Everybody else is simply early.” She declares pompously and he laughs loudly as they exit the room.  
  
Whoever knocked on the door to wake them has since left and it is left up to them to find their way to the council room. Luckily, Ciri is on hand to guide him and for the first time since his arrival, she actually makes him aware of which rooms are which.  
  
Eventually, they arrive at a long corridor, windows on the right side of it that look out into the city due to how high they were. There’s a large, double wooden door at the end and there are two guards with pole arms and shields deposited outside of the entrance. Cahir finds himself swallowing thickly and tries to keep his sights focused on Ciri in front of him, grounding him in reality.  
  
The guards at the door bow before them, quickly moving their weapons aside and opening the doors for them. Cahir follows Ciri inside of the rather large room that, despite its size, is rather empty save for a few shields decorating the walls and a large table in the middle. Around the table stand Calanthe, Eist and Ceallach. Calanthe is at the head dressed in her regalia, crown sitting perfectly on her head. Eist is by her side, as always, and Ceallach to her right. Cahir takes a moment to frown at his father who looks away from his gaze and at the map that was spread across the oak.  
  
“What is going on?” Ciri takes the words from his mouth as she steps to the table, standing opposite to Calanthe. Cahir quickly takes his position beside her, resting his hands on the table.  
  
“It was my intention to delay this for at least a few more days but it seems we cannot wait any longer.” Calanthe begins and she does not help in quelling the uneasiness resting in the pit of Cahir’s stomach. “You may have noticed Shilard Fitz-Oesterlen and his family were not sitting in their seats in the Temple, yesterday…”  
  
“Yes.” Cahir speaks up and all the eyes in the room turn to look at him. “Why was that, your Majesty?”  
  
“We found them at a roadside. Slaughtered.” Celleach interjects.  
  
“What?”  
  
“They had been conspiring with Voorhis and us at the same time. It seems he got to them before we did.” Eist declares though he doesn’t make eye contact with them and remains looking at the map, brows furrowed.  
  
“Conspiring for what?” Ciri speaks up, her voice not sounding like the one Cahir had grown to love.  
  
“Morvran Voorhis believes he has been denied the Nilfgaardian throne.” Ceallach speaks and Calanthe nods slowly in agreement.  
  
“I thought Voorhis was dead.”  
  
“No, Princess Cirilla. He was merely aided in escaping the noose.”  
  
“I thought all Emreis loyalists had been dealt with?” Ciri replies to his father, voice curt.  
  
“We thought so, too. Skellen, Bonhart, Vilgefortz, Rience all were hung. But Voorhis has allies everywhere. He is a member of the Guild Merchants, after all.” Ceallach explains to Cirilla and Cahir finds himself utterly lost.  
  
“Emperor Calveit is a usurper then?” Cahir asks, mainly to his father but it is Calanthe who answers.  
  
“He won it by conquest. It is by all law, his and only his.”  
  
“Voorhis always was a petty bastard.” Cahir speaks up and Calanthe smirks at his words.  
  
“Yes, I believe you’re right.” The Queen presses her hands to the map, straightening out some creases in it. “His pettiness is evident. He marches towards Cintra with what remains of his Alba Division and soldiers from Loyalist families.”  
  
“What could he possibly gain from Cintra?” Ciri asks, with a tone of annoyance.  
  
An epiphany suddenly strikes Cahir and he rubs his hands down his face, sighing. “He doesn’t come just to claim back the Nilfgaardian throne, in fact, I gather that is the least pressing matter in his eyes.”  
  
“What do you mean?” Ciri’s voice cuts into his thoughts and he reaches for her hand, discreetly.  
  
“What the woman at the market said,” He starts, trying not to notice Calanthe’s eyes glaring into the side of his head. “He comes for what he is owed. He doesn’t just think Cintra has helped take the throne from him, he thinks we have taken his Empress, too. That is why he marches here. He gains Ciri and by extension Cintra and its army.”  
  
Ciri jerks her hand out of his but there is no malice in her actions as Calanthe and Eist share a brief look at each other.  
  
“What else did this woman say to you, Cahir?” Eist speaks up and Cahir takes a quick glance at his father who gives him a slight, encouraging nod.  
  
“Be weary of the snowfall or your blood will decorate the stairs.”  
  
All goes quiet for what feels like hours before Eist points to the map and Calanthe walks over to where he is pointing, peering at it.  
  
“Marnadal Stairs.” Calanthe speaks aloud, “Where it all began.”  
  
“Did she tell you anything else, son?” 

Cahir shakes his head at his father.  
  
“Do we know his whereabouts?” Ciri inquires.  
  
“Last we heard, it would roughly place him about eight days away from Marnadal.” Cealleach speaks as he folds his hands together, nervously wringing them - a trait Cahir had inherited.  
  
“How long will it take our forces to get there?” Ciri returns more firmly to Cahir's side and he places his hand at the small of her back.  
  
“If we set off today... Around a week.” Eist replies, lips pursed tightly together. It is perhaps the first time Cahir had not seen the man smiling. Dire times, indeed.  
  
“Then we must get ready.” Calanthe speaks, her voice so stern and sharp it could cut ice. “Cahir?”  
  
“Yes, your Majesty?”  
  
“Will you fight with us? For us?”  
  
His gaze flickers briefly to Ceallach who not only nods but flashes a sympathetic smile in his direction.  
  
“It would be my honor to fight by your side.”  
  
Calanthe nods curtly. “Eist, if you may go ensure the soldiers are getting prepared correctly, quickly and safely. Lord Celleach, if you could assist.”  
  
Both men nod at the Queen, Celleach bowing as he exits.  
  
“Cirilla, may you excuse Cahir and I for a moment?” Calanthe asks next and Cahir finds himself tensing at the thought of being left alone.  
  
“You’re not going to slit his throat behind my back, are you? I wouldn’t be very happy if you did.” Ciri warns and Cahir chuckles to himself in relief as Calanthe replies.  
  
“Rest assured, Cirilla. If I were to kill him, I’d make it a national event.” Her snark is evident on her face despite her always striving to keep it neutral.  
  
Ciri nods her head, flashing Cahir a look as she makes her way out of the council room.  
  
“I must confess, I thought you would go running back to your Nilfgaardian brothers in arms the first chance you got.” She is not speaking loud but her voice echoes in the almost empty room, nevertheless. 

“Those men are not my brothers. They never were. The way they wanted to change the world…” Cahir shakes his head, looking down at the table. “You can’t change it that way. I’m glad I realised before I met my death.”  
  
Calanthe nods her head slightly as she walks around the table to face him. Cahir’s heart pounds in his chest despite the manner of the Queen not seeming all that threatening.  
  
“What we do and say now does not leave this room. Agreed?”  
  
Cahir nods hesitantly.  
  
“I let a Nilfgaardian into my court once.” She scoffs. “A mistake if there ever was one. Pavetta died because of it. His name, we thought, was Duny. A ridiculous name for a ridiculous man.” 

“Duny, the Urcheon of Erlenwald. Yes, I read your history books…”  
  
“That wasn’t his real name. You may know him by something different. How do you say it in your language?” Calanthe pauses, looking up at the ceiling. “Something like Deithwen Addan yn Carn aep Morvudd?” 

Cahir looks at the Queen as if she had suddenly gained two heads. He blinks several times in rapid succession to ensure he was not dreaming. “Emhyr var Emreis is Cirilla’s father? It cannot be...If this is one of your taunts--”  
  
“It is not. If you are to fight, you deserve to know why. That is all.”  
  
“I intend to fight for Ciri. To ensure she is safe. Above everything.”  
  
“I knew I had chosen well.” She pauses. “You were almost right earlier. Morvran does ride to Cintra to claim Ciri and our army. But he knows. About Emhyr. He knows that if he gets Ciri, he has a larger claim to the Nilfgaardian throne than anyone could have ever imagined.” 

“This whole situation is insanity.” Cahir manages to spit out despite feeling like screaming. 

“Yes.” Calanthe nods. “Duny said that to me once, too.” 

“Are you trying to insinuate--”  
  
“I am not.” She places her hand in the air to silence him. “I believe I have a good idea to assume what sort of man you are. Eist trusts you and foolishly, I trust him.”  
  
“What else do you want?”  
  
“I want you to swear to me.” Calanthe replies, ignoring the frown on Cahir’s face.  
  
“Fealty? I already have.”  
  
“Not that. I want you to swear to me that if anything should happen to Eist and I--”  
  
“Nothing is go--”  
  
She raises her palm again.  
  
“If anything should happen to Eist and I, you will not let them get Ciri. You will fight tooth and claw to get back here and get her to safety. In Kaedwen there is a mountain range, within that there is a keep called Kaer Morhen. You will take her there and you will both be safe. Our most trusted Queensguard know the protocols and will ensure you are both able to reach this location. Swear to me, Cahir Dyffryn.”  
  
Before Cahir can give a reply, Calanthe takes a small dagger that was hidden away under the table and cuts a small line into her hand, squeezing it to draw a little blood before offering it to him. Without question, he takes the dagger and slices his own hand, perhaps a little too deep he realises as he winces.  
  
Carefully, he holds his hand out to Calanthe who grabs it, pressing their wounds together, blood melding with blood.  
  
“I swear to you. If the moment should arise, I will collect Cirilla and take her to Kaer Morhen unharmed. You have my word.”  
  
“Excellent…” Calanthe smiles and the uneasiness that had so frequently made a home in Cahir’s stomach rises again. “You may take your leave now. Lazlo will show you to the armoury to help get prepared for battle. As much as one can at such short notice. We leave for Marnadal at sunset.”  
  
“Your Majesty.” Cahir bows solemnly before making a quick exit, head spinning.  
  
The hallway is empty apart from the two guards who allow him out of the room. He feels like he could throw up any second and knows that if Ciri happened to round the corner, he would be as white as a fresh linen sheet.  
  
Luckily, there is a nearby alcove which he eagerly perches on, legs tucked up so if anyone happened to pass by they would be less likely to see him. Carefully, he rests his head in his hands and pays no mention to the cold sweat that had apparently made itself home on his brow.  
  
What had he gotten himself into? It was never his intention to fight in another battle for the remainder of his life, much less one so soon after things were taking a happier turn for him. _Have I not fought enough for this lifetime?_   
  
Cahir was more consumed with worry about the battle that he almost allowed himself to forget the revelation Calanthe had made about Ciri’s lineage. How could it be? It seemed it was not just the Nilfgaardians Emhyr var Emreis had fooled, after all...  
  
A throat clears at his side. “Your Grace?”  
  
Cahir’s head snaps to look at the side, not familiar with his new form of address. “Lazlo?”  
  
The blonde knight nods his head. _He is awfully young._ “Yes. I’ve been instructed to help you get the armoury, your Grace.”  
  
“Enough of the formal address.” He orders as he untangles himself from his own entrapment of limbs and climbs off the alcove. “Lead on, Ser Lazlo.” 

***

Night settled in before Cahir had time to come to terms with what had been said and done during the early hours. Preparation for the upcoming battle had jumped to the forefront of his mind and he found he didn’t mind as it pushed the revelation about Ciri’s true father behind the chaos of everything else.  
  
He had asked Eist to hang back a moment or two to allow him to say his goodbyes to Ciri - not a courtesy he was paid in the last war. Searching their quarters proved futile and so he searched instead for the small balcony that overlooked the courtyard where the soldiers were currently marching or riding out of. His assumptions proved correct as he pushes open the doors to the balcony and is met with the sight of Ciri, back in front of him.  
  
“You’ll catch your death out here dressed like that, Princess.” He remarks and she jumps slightly, turning her head for the briefest of moments to peer at him. 

“I’m quite accustomed to the Cintran winters. They’re not so bad as the ones on Skellige.” Her eyes quickly take in his appearance, dressed in the standard silver Cintran armour, the crest of her house emblazoned on his chestpiece. “I’d say you look ravishing but I don’t think it is the right time nor place.”  
  
Cahir snorts, smiling as he briefly looks at the floor before coming to stand beside her. “I do so admire your ability to pull compliments out of thin air, Princess.”  
  
“And I do so admire your ability to go rushing into danger for someone you have only known for a little over a month, Nilfgaardian.” She retorts, moving to lean against the stone balcony and turning to face him. “Why, Cahir?”  
  
“We’re married. It is my duty and--”  
  
“And?”  
  
“I am devoted to you. Body, mind, soul. Whatever you ask of me.” He answers, no waver in his voice like he feared there would be. “I fear it has been that way since the moment I laid eyes on you.”  
  
“It isn’t real. It can’t be. Moments like that only exist in tales women tell their children before they sleep.” Her voice isn’t bitter and she shows no sign of becoming upset, though occasionally the words leave her as if she has something lodged in her throat.  
  
“And has this not become one of those stories?” He questions, reaching for her hand. “The bratty but kind, beautiful princess and the knight who would willingly lay his life down for her?”  
  
“I don’t want you to die for me. I don’t want anyone to die for me - not Grandmother, not Eist. Nobody. But especially not you.” Ciri speaks quietly, meekly and in a manner that he was not accustomed to.  
  
“I won’t die. I promise you this.” Cahir closes the distance between them and gently takes her face between his hands. Her own reach up, closing around his wrists as if she was going to pull them away but she doesn’t. “I intend to be a true husband to you. I can’t be that if I don’t keep my promises, can I?”  
  
“No, I suppose not.” Ciri smiles wearily up at him, his heart thumps as he brushes his thumbs delicately across her cheeks. 

There’s a heavy fall of snowflakes surrounding them and they tangle in her hair, almost melding due to their similar colours - the smaller flakes land on her eyelashes and she blinks them away before they can fully melt.  
  
“Cahir!” Eist’s voice rises up from below the balcony and Cahir takes a glance at the King below who is wearing identical armour to his own apart from he already had his helmet on. Cahir’s own helmet is in the Skelliger’s hand and he wiggles it lightly up at him.  
  
“Alright, I’m on my way!” Cahir shouts back, slight annoyance present in his voice.  
  
He turns to look over Ciri again and her hands move from his wrists to over his hands that are still cupping her face.  
  
“You should go…”  
  
“I have something to say first.” 

  
“What is it?” His heart stops when she blinks up at him and he almost becomes a coward.  
  
“I think I love you.” _Fuck_. _It’s too late to take it back now._ “I love you.”  
  
“You can’t -- I -- You don’t know me.” She stutters, pushing his hands away from her face.  
  
“I do, I do.” He pleads, searching for any part of her to grab once more and bring into his embrace to keep warm and safe, protected and wholly his. “You and I, we see the same thing in each other’s eyes and we recognise it. We have been happy together these weeks, have we not? Do not deny me the truth of that, Ciri. I beg you. What is love if not to make another person happy and whole?”  
  
“I am not a broken wooden horse you can glue together, you understand?”  
  
“Better than most. I am not that either.” He answers, voice breaking slightly as he does. Hesitantly, he reaches for her hand and he breathes a sigh of relief when she allows it.  
  
“I cannot say it back. Not yet. I don’t know if I ever will. Not after Mistle. If I cared for you less, it would be easier for me to say.” Her eyes shine impossibly and he cannot tell whether it is through the light emitting off the moon or because tears had gathered there.  
  
“You don’t have to say it back. I know you can’t, I just wanted you to know.” He presses his lips briefly against hers and feels relieved when she does not pull back like he feared she would.  
  
She brushes their noses together as he pulls away, sighing. “You do not need to be a hero.”  
  
“I know.”  
  
He kisses her once more, less delicate and more bursting with emotion before he quickly leaves without turning to look at her, fearing his resolve would disappear.  
  
Cahir quickly makes his way down the steps and into the courtyard where Eist is still awaiting on his steed, Fenrir next to him.  
  
“Everything alright?” Eist inquires as Cahir takes his helmet from the King’s hand and places it on his head. The fit is a little snug but it works, all the same.  
  
“Yes. I’m fine. We’re fine.” He sends a small smile in Eist’s direction as he mounts Fenrir, patting his stallion lightly on his side.  
  
“Ready for it then?” Eist asks once more, readying his own horse’s reins in his hands.  
  
“Let’s go finish this bastard for good.”


	8. Chapter 8

The journey to the Marnadal Stairs had not been as perilous as Cahir had imagined it. A dusting of snow had covered them the entire away and he feared there would be some men whose fingers would be victims to frostbite. 

He hadn’t had much rest throughout their journey, the tension hanging in the air and there was a lack of time to boot. They had set up a small camp a little over a mile out from the stairs themselves and Cahir had sought respite there the night previously, to no avail. Stupidly, he had thought perhaps being surrounded by the light breathing and the occasional loud snore would lull him to a slumber as it did in the Imperial Army ranks -- how wrong he was.  
  
Morning soon came and Cahir was in one of the last divisions to leave, much to his dismay. He had never seen any of the other soldiers before and was under the assumption that they had been recently knighted, judging by their excitement and valour that Cahir knew did not come once you had fought as much as he had.  
  
Just over halfway towards Marnadal, the snow finally stopped falling and a cheer arose from the back of the division that made Cahir smile just a little. He had been encouraged to ride at the front of the soldiers along with two other commanders that he did not know or did not seem to want to make conversation. It made him uneasy. The tension was thick in the air and for once, he so desperately wanted to see the Queen’s face.  
  
As they make a slow ascension up a slight incline, Fenrir begins to fuss a little and Cahir searches for the saddlebag hidden discreetly under the stallion’s armour. Instead of finding the dry texture of an oatcake or something as equally edible for the horse, he feels the familiar coolness of a weapon. Carefully, he grabs the item and brings it around to his front. Ciri’s dagger already in a sheath sits perfectly in his grasp and he rolls his eyes, smiling. _Sneaky Princess_ . He shifts slightly in his saddle and is able to attach the dagger to the appropriate belt underneath his metal confines.  
  
Fenrir snorts to gain his attention. “Sorry, boy.” He leans over to the saddlebag again and gathers an apple this time which Fenrir accepts happily as he makes it up the hill without an incident.

The rest of the army were waiting at the top of the hill, separated into clusters of different soldiers that are a mix of different ages and body types. Cahir is not sure of their fighting abilities, of course, but he finds that he trusts Calanthe and Eist to know their soldiers more than he.  
  
“You should go meet with the Queen and King Eist at the front now, your Grace.” One of the unnamed soldiers points out and Cahir realises he was probably looking around like a lost child in a crowded market.  
  
“Yes. Good luck in the battle, soldier.” He tries to muster a strong voice but to his ears it sounds like he fails.  
  
The soldier nods slightly. “Gods go with you, your Grace.”  
  
Cahir gives one final nod towards the soldier before spurring Fenrir on into a canter through the strategically placed rows of soldiers, members at the back of the formations mumbling quietly to themselves as he passes. The Cintran army is quite large and he is at least a little thankful that the rulers and his father had been conspiring for this battle underneath his nose - had they not, he fears their army would be less than half its current size and Cintra’s fate would be sealed.  
  
Calanthe and Eist’s figures loom at the front of the army and Cahir swallows thickly as he brings his stallion to a halt at Calanthe’s right side, Eist on her left.  
  
“Nice of you to join us.” She remarks, looking at him from the corner of her eyes.  
  
“Sorry, your Majesty. The boys I was travelling with seemed to have trouble waking themselves up this morning.” He replies, nervous as if it was his fault. 

“Which division?” Eist asks, leaning around behind Calanthe to speak to him, his face barely visible around the confines of his helmet.  
  
“Twelfth.”  
  
“Lazy sods.” The King mutters under his breath, returning to face the sprawling hill in front of them.  
  
“Have we had any sign they are near?” Cahir asks into the cold air, hoping to get a reply from either of them.  
  
“We saw smoke this morning. Campfires probably.” Eist answers quickly.  
  
“What distance?”  
  
“Around the same distance as you were camped this morning. Meaning--”  
  
He cuts Calanthe off.  
  
“They could be here any time soon.” He sighs, anxiety peaking with each passing second. 

“You remember the protocol, don’t you?” Calanthe poses the question, finally turning her head to fully look at him, brown eyes focusing on his own.  
  
“Kaer Morhen.” Cahir answers and he sees Eist turn his head briefly from the corner of his eye. “I remember clearly.”  
  
“And if you should fail,” The Queen resumes, menace in her voice, “I’ll never forgive you, in any of the next lives.”  
  
“Oh, I don’t doubt it.” He chuckles, slightly bitterly. “I do not intend to fail you, Eist or Ciri.”  
  
“Good.” Her reply is short and to the point. Cahir is glad as he turns his gaze back to the horizon. 

It feels like hours pass in complete silence and Cahir is certain he can recount the finer details of Calanthe’s armour just by closing his eyes. He looks away from the horizon for the briefest of moments to look at the men behind them, the odd one swaying to keep warm before shouting in the distance can be heard in the wind.  
  
Slowly, he turns his head back to the front and is met with the sight of the Great Sun attached to a flagpole just coming over the hill.  
  
“What are they saying?” Eist asks nobody in particular.  
  
“You don’t want to know.” Cahir remarks, ending the conversation before it truly began.  
  
The Nilfgaardians first line of defence looks awfully like a collection of ants but as they get closer to them, Cahir finds himself in surprise to see how many soldiers Voorhis had gathered. How many? He summises at least over nine thousand. Maybe closer to ten.  
  
“How many men do we have?” He asks, curiosity piquing.  
  
“Twelve thousand.” Calanthe answers. “You have expertise. Tell me, do you think it is enough?”  
  
“I think it could be. The Alba Division are the best of the best. I fought with some of the loyalist men before I switched sides - they were competent but not necessarily always good. They will be easy to part, in my opinion.”  
  
“I must admit, I do not understand how he has gathered so many.” Eist joins in the conversation as more men appear from the horizon. Ten thousand seemed a correct guess.  
  
“Give a Nilfgaardian a bone to chase and they will chase it.” Calanthe answers and Cahir is almost inclined to agree. “They don’t seem to like Emperor Calveit.”  
  
“They never seemed to like var Emreis or Voorhis at court either, your Majesty. They are rather fickle.” Cahir replies and ends the conversation, gazing back to the encroaching army.  
  
The whole world seems to quieten as the two opposite armies face each other, wind blowing frost between them. Out of the corner of his eyes, he sees Calanthe raise her sword - a signal for them to prepare and Cahir gets himself comfortable in his saddle before discreetly unsheathing his sword. As Calanthe lifts her weapon as high as she can reach, a Nilfgaardian soldier - he suspects Voorhis or one of his easily bought generals, shouts orders in the distance but he cannot hear them clearly enough to interpret.  
  
Calanthe and Eist shout orders to their men but all Cahir can hear is a ringing in his ears as the Nilfgaardians start to make their approach. He thinks of Ciri briefly and allows her image to flood his senses; the sound of her laugh, the depths of her eyes, the way her lips feel against his and the way she smiles sweetly when he first lays his eyes on her as they rise together. If it comes to it and he fails, he will feel at peace knowing his last memory was of her. 

Calanthe brings down her sword in a firm manner and there’s a loud yell from the soldiers behind them. Cahir brings his gaze to meet the Queen who gives him a solemn nod before spurring her horse, Eist following after. Cahir takes a brief second of hesitation before spurring Fenrir on after them, sword at the ready.  
  
His sword collides with some foot soldiers first, the beginning line of Voorhis’ defense and Cahir finds it odd that he does not feel remorse as his sword cuts into the necks of his former countrymen. Blood splashes in the cut out of his helmet and he has to blink away both the blood and sweat quickly so he is able to see the next target. An older soldier charges towards Fenrir’s chest and Cahir jerks his stallion to the side quickly before bringing his sword down on the man’s head, knocking him to the floor - he is not sure the injury was lethal but he doesn’t stick around to find out and instead spurs Fenrir on again, heading towards the left side of the mass of Nilfgaardian soldiers who are now all engaging in battle with the Cintrans.  
  
Cahir managed to cut a few more soldiers down, his spare hand clinging tightly to Fenrir’s reigns. He has lost sight of Calanthe but is able to spot Eist in the distance, still on his war horse. 

Scouring the battlefield was a mistake, he realises as he turns his gaze to the front of him and a soldier from the opposing side manages to graze Fenrir with his polearm. The stallion raises up and bucks Cahir off who lands in a heap just off to the side. 

His helmet falls off his head and Cahir curses as he starts to crawl towards his sword that had clattered off to the side. He foolishly blinks rapidly, sweat still falling from the curls of his hair into his eyes.  
  
Before he can reach for his sword, the soldier gathers his helmet off the floor, quickly swings it around with heavy force and causes it to collide with the side of Cahir’s head. Temporarily, his world turns a blinding white and he swears his ears are ringing. Cahir retches but nothing comes from his empty stomach. He reaches blindly for his sword again but his fingers find nothing but frosted blades of grass.  
  
The Nilfgaardian takes the opportunity to kick his ribs causing Cahir to yelp as he rolls onto his back shuffling away as quickly as he can, still disorientated and almost sure at least two of his ribs are broken.  
  
He is still crawling when he hears a pained cry from the soldier who was moving to finish him off. Cahir blinks again, sunlight burning his eyes which soon clears in time for him to see the soldier falling to the floor, Eist behind pulling his sword from his neck as the Nilfgaardian gurgles and chokes on his own blood.  
  
“I--” Cahir sputters out, the metallic taste of his own blood laced on his tongue as he grabs his sword before attempting to stand. He wobbles a little and Eist quickly reaches out to steady him.  
  
“Your armour is broken!” He shouts over the roar of battle and Cahir notes that he is indeed, correct. Almost the entire front of his chest piece is gone, chain mail showing from beneath. “You need to go! Get change--”  
  
“I’m not leaving! Not until Voorhis is de--”  
  
Cahir is cut off by an arrow embedding itself within Eist’s thigh. The King falls to the floor, clutching his leg as Cahir ducks, crawling along the floor to reach his position.  
  
“Great Sun, Eist--”  
  
“I’ll live, don’t fret.” Eist manages to spit out through his gritted teeth. “Help me snap this wood. Don’t pull it o--”  
  
“I know!” Cahir replies frantically as his fingers work overtime, snapping the end of the arrow that was still sticking out of Eist’s leg whilst being careful not to move it too much or make it too short that a surgeon would have difficulty removing it. “There. Here, let me help you stand.”  
  
Cahir holds his hand out which Eist readily accepts. He limps slightly and Cahir wraps his arm around Eist’s waist as he automatically wraps his arm around Cahir’s neck. With his sword still in hand, he helps Eist make his way to a horse that was roaming around the battlefield. The ruler struggles to get on at first but Cahir guides him up.  
  
“You need to get to safety.”  
  
“I cannot abandon my men or my Queen.”  
  
Cahir quickly glances around them, two soldiers of the opposing side heading in their direction. “Then try to stay on the horse, this time.” Eist glares but Cahir doesn’t give him a chance to retort, slapping the rear of the horse which makes it charge off.  
  
One of the soldiers moves in for an attack but Cahir is quick to intercept and parries the blow, his sword quickly moving and cutting his stomach through the cheap leather armour. Blood pours onto the floor and he efficiently side steps it as the second soldier charges towards him, yelling something unintelligible. Luckily, he is quick on his feet and is able to dodge the incoming blow, his sword that is now slick with blood sliding into the man’s back.  
  
Cahir draws his sword out of the man’s body and flicks it to get some of the blood from the blade. He takes another look around the field and finds relief in his gaze: the Black Ones seemed to be thinning, Cintran soldiers more prominent on the field.  
  
He doesn’t have time to look for another foe to attack before he is tackled from behind, falling to the floor once again. His face collides with the frozen ground and he’s sure his nose made a crack as it collided with the dirt.  
  
“Rotsaak!” Cahir recognises the voice from his brief time at court. “Traitor!” An armoured fist pummels the back of his head, pushing his face further into the dirt.  
  
With all the might he can muster, Cahir flips himself over and is met with the snarling face of Morvran Voorhis. He strikes him viciously and Voorhis’ head snaps back with the force of the blow.  
  
“I betrayed nobody!”  
  
Morvran moves in for another blow to the face but Cahir is quick in stopping him, grabbing his fists and pushing them back. The move doesn’t delay Morvran for as long as he initially hoped and the aggressor strikes his face again, this time aiming for his nose that was definitely broken now if it had not been already.  
  
“You took Cint--”  
  
“I didn’t have a choice!” Cahir raises his voice and Morvran briefly stops his assault to listen. “I didn’t know what happened to you, I swear it.” He spits blood as he talks, droplets landing on his chin and some across Voorhis’ nose.  
  
“Conquest. Conquest!” Movran begins ranting, his elbow going across Cahir’s throat. “Jan cheated..”  
  
“How do you know?” His voice is strained and he grips the arm that’s pushing on his windpipe in order to release some pressure.  
  
“He’s an old man!”  
  
“It does not mean he is unable to fight!” Cahir seizes the chance to spit in the direction of Morvran’s face, the fluid landing in his eyes. He groans and Cahir strikes his jaw, finally knocking him off him. Quickly, he scrambles for his sword and gathers it into his hand and standing, shakily.  
  
“It is _my_ throne.” Voorhis growls as he makes his charge. Cahir successfully parries and tries to disarm but Morvran is quicker and hits him in the ribs with his armoured fist where he was kicked earlier and almost knocks him off his feet.  
  
“Not by law of conquest, Movran. Give it up!”  
  
“Then you took Cirilla from me and Cintra…”  
  
“She is not a prize to be won.”  
  
Their blades meet again but they both deflect the blow, swords and arms tangling with each other. Morvran is not a good looking man, Cahir notes as their faces come in close distance to each other.  
  
“I don’t mind if you’ve had her. You’ve just broken her in for me.” Morvran whispers and an unbridled fury rises in Cahir’s stomach.  
  
He dentagles his blade from Voorhis’ vice grip and swings it like a mad-man. It connects briefly across Morvran’s thigh, leaving a sharp cut.  
  
“You don’t know her. She’d kill you before you got her to the altar.”  
  
Movran laughs bitterly.  
  
“You love her?”  
  
Cahir doesn’t speak, lips firmly knitted together as he flicks his hair which is coated in blood, grass and sweat away from his eyes.  
  
“Don’t talk of it like you know what it means. People like you never do.” He replies, venom that he is surprised at in his tone.  
  
“Emhyr loved his daughter very much. So much he wanted to ravage the world for her...You fought for that, once.”  
  
“And I saw sense even before I knew what sick perversions lay in his heart.”  
  
“I was to be Emhyr’s successor. He chose me if he could not have Cirilla. He was a good man.”  
  
“Good men do not wish to bed their daughters.”  
  
Morvran charges once again, arms wrapping around Cahir as he tackles him to the floor again. This time, he is prepared and grips Movran’s shoulders so as to not land on the grass with such a heavy blow.  
  
Voorhis’ fist strikes his face once, twice, a third and fourth before Cahir spits the blood from his mouth and makes a parrying punch. Morvran blinks and Cahir tries to feel for his sword but does not have much luck.  
  
It takes Cahir a few seconds to realise he feels a burning sensation in the lower part of his abdomen. Morvran has stilled atop of him but his hand remains at his throat, a snarl of mad delight on his lips. Carefully, he looks and his worst suspicion is confirmed as he notices the knife sticking out of his gut, blood slowly coating his chainmail.  
  
“Got you.” Voorhis remarks.  
  
Cahir moves one of his hands to push the wound, keeping pressure on it and making sure the knife remains in as a plug. He had seen men who had taken the weapon out on the battlefield and bled to death within minutes.  
  
With his other hand, he fumbles quickly for Ciri’s dagger attached to his belt. It comes out of its sheath quickly and as fast as he can muster in the position he’s currently in, he brings the dagger up and slams it into Movran’s throat.  
  
The Nilfgaardian heir’s hands fly to his throat as he stands, stumbling as he chokes. His brief fight is over within a few seconds, his knees sinking to the floor first before he lands face down in the dirt.  
  
Cahir struggles to stand but forces himself on his knees and then onto his feet as he remains holding his stomach, Ciri’s dagger lodged in Voorhis’ throat all but forgotten about.  
  
He staggers around the open field, looking for a sign of anyone. Droplets of blood fall at his feet from his wound and Cahir shudders at the sight.  
  
There are men still fighting but he cannot tell who.  
  
Voices ring in his ears, flooding his senses.  
  
_"You do not need to be a hero_ .”  
  
Someone shouts for a retreat. Smoke is filling the air. A horn sounds in the distance.  
  
_“Kaer Morhen."_ _  
_ _  
_ Hooves thud behind him. More men coming. What side?  
  
_“Your blood will decorate the Stairs.”_ _  
_ _  
_ A horse flies past him and he stumbles out of its way.  
  
_“Destiny requires a sacrifice.”_ _  
_ _  
_ He feels clammy, sick and his head is ringing something fierce.

 _“I am no Nilfgaardian.”_  
  
He falls to the floor, hands reaching out to stop the knife pushing into his stomach any further. He turns himself around, looking at the sky. It is a wondrous blue and Cahir finds himself staring, blinking tears away from his eyes.  
  
A final voice echoes in his ears, flooding them. It is his own at the same time it is not.  
  
_“I came all this way to redeem myself.”_  
  
Birds fly above him. 

Cahir gazes up at them, weakly.

A flight of swallows, he realises with a small, final chuckle, blood flying to his chin before his eyes close and the world turns dark. 


	9. Chapter 9

_“What do you mean you can’t help him?”_

_“I’m only a field surgeon, the woun--”_ _  
_

_“You will try your damnedest.”_ _  
_

_“Y-yes, your Majesty.”_

* * *

There was nothing but darkness.  
  


No sound, no light, no feeling.  
  


Nothingness.

* * *

_"Cahir?"  
_  
A voice sounds. Somewhat familiar. 

Fingers click above him. 

A Lioness speaks. 

_"Like that is going to work, you fool."_

_"Do you think he has passed over?"_

_"There is breath still in his lungs. Give him and me some time, Eist."_

He doesn't recognise that voice.

* * *

There is no pain any more. 

He just exists.

Floating, never falling. 

* * *

Fingers brush against his head softly. It feels nice. 

_"You have to wake up soon, my love."_

Mama.

 _"Cahir!"  
  
_Tiny fingers prickle his side. 

_"Don't touch him like that! You might hurt him, Feena."_

Brianna. 

_"I don't think we should go back to Nilfgaard and leave him here all alone."_

_"It's not like we have a choice."_

Dheran and his dry, monotone voice.

_"Come, children. Cahir is in safe hands. Try not to fret."_

Father.

He wants to speak out, shout that he is still here but his eyes are sewn shut. 

* * *

Something shuffles next to him. 

A grab of his hand, entwining of fingers. 

_"Can you hear me yet?"_

That voice. The sweetest kind of voice. Regal sounding. Dear to him. 

A Princess, perhaps? His Princess? 

_"I've been here every night and nothing. I'm not one to give up but Gods, I am worried about you."_ She pauses. _"Mousesack says that if you don't wake up before the week is out then all hope is lost. You may not even be here now. You could be a husk and I wouldn't know any better."_

I'm still alive, he wants to scream. His throat burns. 

_"I don't want you to pass over. We've had so little time."_ Sniffles. Something wet drops onto his chest, his forehead. Salt on his lips. 

_"Come back. Come back, come back to me..."_

Lips brush against his own.

Ciri. 

_"I'll stay right here until you do."_

For you, I will try. 

* * *

His eyelashes flutter irritatingly against his skin as he comes to, the room full of bright light despite the curtains being drawn.  
  
It takes him a moment to realise that he is in his own bed. Moving comes difficult as he attempts to sit up. He settles for remaining laid down.  
  
There are numerous bandages covering his stomach, bruises littering his chest, a cut on his left arm he doesn’t remember getting and a large bruise stemming from a hoof mark on his right shoulder.  
  
He doesn’t notice until after he’s stared at the large bruise for several minutes, head still woozy but there are several wisps of ashen hair sticking out from underneath the sheet that is covering him. It takes him a minute or two to muster the strength but he pushes back the sheet as best he could.  
  
Ciri is tucked into his side, curled into herself, one hand under her chin and the other lazily resting on the top of his legs to use as a makeshift pillow. The moving of the sheet doesn’t stir her from her slumber and if he could laugh, he would.  
  
“Ciri,” He croaks, voice barely audible, “Ciri, wake up…” Straining his voice makes him cough and splutter, his stomach throbbing as he does.  
  
Her head snaps up as she rises from her position, looking at him as if she were still sleeping for a moment.  
  
“You’re awake…” She says and he nods, slowly, hand covering his mouth as he finishes coughing. “You’re awake! You’re alive!” She exclaims, smiling like a madwoman as she grabs both sides of his face and crushes her lips to his. He has no time to react and his arms flail about slightly at her side before she pulls away, getting off the bed.  
  
Ciri opens the door slightly, muttering an order to a guard who is posted to the outside of it. Quickly, she shuts it and pours some water from a ceramic jug that is sat on one of their dressers into a small glass.  
  
“Here,” She says, kneeling next to him on the bed. “Drink up. _Slowly._ ” Ciri raises the glass to his lips, keeping a hand under his chin as he weakly opens his mouth as she pours the tiniest bit of water in. It’s refreshing despite the beverage being tepid at best.  
  
“What hap--”  
  
“Hush. Try not to strain yourself. You’ve been asleep almost two weeks.”  
  
He nods and takes some more of the water she was offering before she sets it aside. Carefully, she helps him sit up, propping his back up with a mountain of pillows he was certain wasn’t there the last time he slept in this bed.  
  
As if just remembering, he allows his fingers to brush across his nose, feeling a slight bump there. Ciri chuckles slightly, cupping one his cheeks. “You’re still handsome to me.” He snorts at that.  
  
“The battle?”  
  
“We won.” She nods. “A defeat for Nilfgaard. They’re all dead. I mean, Voorhis’ men. Not the entire country.”  
  
He chuckles and it turns into a wheeze. Ciri’s hand flies to his shoulders but he recovers quickly and she settles down a little, hand remaining on his knee atop of the sheets.  
  
“I heard a horn.”  
  
“Ah, yes. Reinforcements. Eist had called upon some Skelliger men who made it first. That was probably what you heard.”  
  
“First?” He asks, carefully grabbing his water under Ciri’s watchful gaze. Like a hawk, he thinks.  
  
“Nilfgaard came too. Emperor Calveit sent some five thousand men without anyone knowing. They joined us to fight against the Nilfgaardian uprising. We showed Morvran what a true alliance looks like.”  
  
“He was already dead by that point, I’m afraid.”  
  
“Was he the one who wounded you?”  
  
Cahir nods hesitantly, finishing off his glass which Ciri takes off him once he’s done.  
  
“Bastard.”  
  
“What happened once the battle was done?” He inquires.  
  
“It took the scouts almost an entire day to find you.” She looks down, tracing the rim of the glass with one of her fingers. “When they did, they thought you were dead. But they took you to the surgery tent - Grandmother was there. Demanded they take care of you, keep you alive until they made it to the Castle or else she would have them all beheaded.”  
  
Cahir laughs. It hurts his ribs but he doesn’t care. “Colour me surprised.”  
  
“I think you being so willing to die for Cintra won her over.”  
  
“It wasn’t Cintra I was so willing to die for, Cirilla.”  
  
She turns her head to look at him. To truly look at him and his heart stutters. “Don’t say that…”  
  
“I meant what I said.” His voice is still hoarse but the effort to speak is not as sore anymore. He reaches out for her and she takes his hand in her own, bringing it to her lips and leaving a kiss on his knuckles. “I love you, Ciri. From now until the end of my days and if there is something after that, even then.”  
  
“I know, Cahir. I knew when you left and I know now.” She pauses. “I l-” She stops herself.  
  
He shakes his head, smiling. “Don’t force yourself, Ciri. I know, too. Actions are sometimes louder than words.” Her smile matches his own as he presses two fingers to her lips that she kisses.  
  
“Your family has been called back to Nilfgaard.” She begins once more, keeping hold of his hand. “But, your younger sisters have been allowed to stay.”  
  
“Erynn and Feena?”  
  
“Yes.” She grins at his contagious happiness. “Erynn is going to study until summer under our court...Well, druid - Mousesack. You’ll meet him in a few minutes. And Feena, she didn’t want to leave without you. Your Father said she could stay until summer, too.”  
  
“She’s a little too young for politics yet.”  
  
“Yes, she is. They’ve both managed to wrap Grandmother and Eist around their thumbs. Gods know how. Must be something in your blood…” She teases and he scrunches his nose up at her. 

There’s a short, polite knock on the door and Ciri calls them in, getting off the bed quickly as if she was worried to be caught. Calanthe, maybe?  
  
How wrong he was. Into the room enters a rather short man, wearing green robes. Cahir notes he has a friendly face, framed by brown, wavy hair.  
  
“Cahir, this is Mousesack. You have him to thank for your recovery. Seeing as the field surgeon almost made it worse…”  
  
Mousesack sends Ciri a look and she falls silent in the corner of the room.  
  
“Thank you, Mousesack. I’m forever in your debt.”  
  
“Please,” The druid raises his hand, sincere smile on his lips. “It is my honour to serve the Cintran family and a simple task to do for the very man who helped bring down Morvran Voorhis.”  
  
Cahir doesn’t say anything - doesn’t know how to reply to a compliment and he never has.  
  
“Can he get out of bed, Mousesack?”  
  
“I’ll have to check the main wound.” He clears his throat, “If you’ll excuse us, Cirilla.”  
  
“What? What can’t I stay here?” She begins her defence and Cahir has to suppress a laugh as Mousesack rolls his eyes before turning to her. Obviously he was used to this behaviour.  
  
“Cahir is probably awfully hungry. You could mosey on down to the kitchens and get him something hot. I’m sure he’d love to see his sisters, too.”  
  
“I am awfully hungry, Ciri.” He pleads and she huffs, crossing her arms and going to the door.  
  
“Before you leave, whilst you’re both still here…” Mousesack begins, drawing Ciri’s attention as she places her hand on the door handle.  
  
“Cahir’s wound will be tender for a while, whether it has healed properly right now or not. That means absolutely no fooling around. Yes, I am looking mainly at you, Cirilla.”  
  
Cahir flushes beet red.  
  
“Gross.” Ciri mutters before exiting the door, shutting it gently behind her.  
  
Mousesack moves to the window opposite Cahir, gathering a bowl of water and some rags that were sat on a metal tray upon the alcove.  
  
“Comfortable?”  
  
“Somewhat.” Cahir nods, sitting a little further up as best he can. “My throat still feels rather sore, my arm is stinging slightly and my ribs hurt when I inhale.”  
  
“The knife wound?” Mousesack queries as he sits at the edge of the bed, adept hands already lifting Cahir’s shirt slightly to unpin the bandage underneath.  
  
“It has been no bother. Not since I woke up, anyway.”  
  
Mousesacks hums, mainly to himself as he unwraps the bandage. There’s an angry looking, jagged line across the left side of his stomach and Cahir winces as he remembers the intense pain before he hit the ground of the battlefield.  
  
“Healing perfectly.” Mousesack nods, gathering a wooden jar of salve from the bedside table.  
  
“It is truly astounding what a little sorcery can do, isn’t it?” Cahir points out, making the druid chuckle.  
  
“Sorcery and the power of a good ointment.” Mousesack declares, this time making Cahir chuckle. “Take it easy for today. Stay in bed. Tomorrow, a nice, slow walk in the gardens with some fresh air will do you well. I would say take Ciri with you but we both know she will go whether you want her there or not.”  
  
“Anything else?” Cahir asks as Mousesack rubs a small line of the salve on the thin cut upon his arm, making it sting slightly more for a brief second.  
  
“Drink plenty. Water. Juice. No mead or wine. Eat plenty, too. Try and stay in the bed more than you are out of it. I’ll check in with you every evening from today and we’ll see how we go from there. Is that alright?” He doesn’t look up as he talks, focusing on bandaging Cahir’s stomach back up.  
  
“Perfectly alright. Thank you, again.”  
  
“You’re very welcome, Cahir.”  
  
He smiles sincerely at the druid, quite content that he does not use any form of royal title to speak with him. What a breath of fresh air.  
  
There’s a knock on the door as Cahir pulls his shirt down and the sheet up. He looks over to Mousesack who flashes a warm smile. “I’ll take my leave. Remember: rest.”  
  
Cahir nods and Mousesack gives a small bow before exiting the room. Ciri is back in the room almost as soon as he leaves and he smiles brightly at her.  
  
“I’ve brought some guests…” She teases, holding the bowl of food high as Erynn and Feena come bounding in the room, diving on the bed. “Girls, go careful with him.”  
  
The warning comes a little too late as both of their arms wrap around him tightly. He doesn’t mind the sharp pain that goes through his abdomen and he wraps his arms around both of their tinier frames, planting a kiss on each of their heads.  
  
“I’m so glad you’re both still here.” His sisters' smiles are infectious when they move away from their group embrace to sit crossed legged in the empty space behind him as Ciri does the same opposite him, mindful not to sit on his legs.  
  
“Papa let us stay whilst they went back home!” Erynn notifies him excitedly. “Mousesack is teaching me all about herbs, remedies until summer.”  
  
“And do you like it?” He asks as Ciri readies his bowl of food, mixing it with a spoon.  
  
“Oh, yes! I want to be just like him when I’m older.”  
  
Ciri snorts.  
  
“Feena? You stayed too?”  
  
“I didn’t want to leave you sleeping.”  
  
“That’s very sweet, little one.” He presses a brief kiss against his youngest sister’s head.  
  
“And we like Ciri, too!” Erynn beams at the young woman in question which she returns in equal measure. His heart somehow grows larger.  
  
“I’m honoured.” Ciri chuckles, placing her hand over her heart before offering a spoonful of porridge to Cahir.  
  
“I can feed myself, I think.”  
  
“I think not.” Ciri declares and he huffs.  
  
“Can’t I feed him, Ciri? It’s practice!” Erynn asks, leaning over to Ciri practically vibrating with excitement.  
  
“Oh...Go on then.” Ciri smirks slightly in his direction and he narrows his eyes back at her as Erynn takes the spoon, holding it up to his mouth.  
  
“Open, brother.”  
  
Cahir does as he’s told and Erynn all but shoves the spoon in his mouth, hitting his teeth on the way in. He doesn’t say anything as to not upset her and takes the porridge. It’s sweet, perhaps a little too sweet but he is so hungry it doesn’t bother him.  
  
Ciri ensures he takes a mouthful of water after every couple of bites and he is grateful to be so cared for. He isn’t so sure that it’s just food in his stomach making him feel warm inside.  
  
“What are you going to do once you’re better, Cahir?” Feena asks as Erynn scrapes the last few lumps of porridge from the bowl and feeds them to him before carefully wiping his chin with her sleeve despite there being nothing there.  
  
“Oh, I don’t know. You should ask Ciri. She is better at these things than I.” He replies gently, sipping his water slowly.  
  
“Well, I would like to see Darn Dyffra, if you will have me--”  
  
“Yes!” The both yell excitedly.  
  
Ciri laughs, “I’m glad I do not need to doubt whether I will be welcome, then.”  
  
“Of course not.” Cahir takes her hand in his, giving it a squeeze which she returns.  
  
“But apart from that, I don’t know. Do you girls have any suggestions?” Ciri smiles genuinely as she asks.  
  
“Are you going to have any children?” Feena asks and yelps as Erynn elbows her in the side. “What?!”  
  
Cahir almost chokes on his water, coughing.  
  
“Uh...Well-” Ciri manages to say before leaning over to Cahir, hitting his back rather roughly. It works and he finally breathes normally. “We are still only young. We’ll have to one day, of course but...I wish to be married to your brother a little while before that.”  
  
“We understand.” Erynn declares, rather matter of factly. Ciri chuckles at it and Cahir finds himself looking at her in awe.

“Why are you looking at me like that?” Ciri asks, making him blush lightly as he runs his thumb across her knuckles.  
  
“I think you’re the most wonderful woman I’ve ever met.”  
  
He swears her cheeks flush and he wants nothing more than to kiss her but the giggles erupting from his sisters cause him to stop his admiration.  
  
“Why are you laughing?” He asks and it just makes them giggle all the more.  
  
“They _love_ each other!” Erynn says to Feena as if him and Ciri are not sitting directly next to them. Feena giggles louder, wrapping her arms around her elder sister’s neck as her face begins to turn red.  
  
“Feena!” Cahir exclaims, hiding his own laughter. “This is not like you. You’re supposed to be the shy one!”  
  
“I’ve been spending too much time with Ciri!” As if to prove her point, she sticks her tongue out at the Princess which she returns before all four of them delve into a rather large bout of laughter.  
  
“Okay, okay...We should let Cahir rest. His ribs were already sore before all this laughter.” Ciri announces as she gets up from the bed, setting the empty bowl and spoon on the wooden dresser by the door.  
  
“Can’t we stay?” Feena asks first.  
  
“Oh, please, Ciri! We’ll be dead quiet.”  
  
Ciri looks over to Cahir who shrugs.  
  
“Okay, fine. So long as you are actually quiet. No more giggling.” Both girls nod their heads and help take the pillows from behind Cahir whilst Ciri lowers him down.  
  
“Comfortable?” She asks.  
  
“Yes, thank you.” He replies and she tilts his chin, pressing a gentle kiss to his lips. She lingers a little and he feels butterflies in his stomach. There are two small giggles from beside him and as Ciri steps away, he shoots his sisters a look and they giggle a little more but eventually settle down, snuggling into the sheets.  
  
Ciri has little chance of getting near to him and settles for snuggling in, sandwiching his sisters between them both. His eyes feel heavy and he makes sure to smile at her before he succumbs to sleep.  
  
“Love you, girls.”  
  
“Love you too, Cahir.” His sisters mutter back in unison, Feena mid-yawn.  
  
“Like you, Ciri.” Erynn says and he laughs.  
  
“Like you too, Ciri.” Feena joins in.  
  
Ciri chuckles to the side. “Like you too, girls.”  
  
She wraps her arm around the younger girls and her fingers dance against the skin of his arm, catching his attention. He carefully turns onto his side, nose in Feena’s hair as he takes Ciri’s hand, entwining their fingers.  
  
“Sweet dreams, Cahir.”  
  
“Sweet dreams, Ciri…” He manages to utter before sleep takes him into its grasp.

* * *

He wakes to a somewhat dark room, moonlight flooding in from between the crack curtains.  
  
There’s only one body next to him, an arm wrapped tightly around his waist, head on his chest.  
  
“Where are the girls?” He whispers lightly against her hair, hoping that she was awake but if she wasn’t, the level of his voice would not wake her.  
  
“Back in their own beds. It’s the middle of the night.” Ciri whispers, sleepily as she looks up at him, eyes half shut.  
  
“Did I wake you?”  
  
“No,” She whispers and he cannot fully see her smile but knows she is. “I’ve just been to the washroom.”  
  
“Alright.” He smiles, brushing his fingers through her hair. She sighs peacefully, snuggling into his side.  
  
“How are you feeling?”  
  
“Still sore everywhere. Especially my sides but I’m feeling better than I was earlier.”  
  
She hums. “Mousesack brought some potions in earlier for you to take in the morning. He thinks himself discreet but I could hear him clattering about.”  
  
He snorts at that, pulling the bedspread further up.  
  
“Must you have that dragged up to your chin?” She inquiries, trying to sound annoyed but she fails miserably.  
  
“I’m cold.”  
  
“You’re such a Nilfgaardian sometimes.” She hits his chest lightly, making him laugh.  
  
“I told you. Vicovarian.”  
  
“Still likes a warmer climate no matter how much you change the name.”  
  
He laughs again, wheezing slightly before letting out a cough. Ciri jerks up ever so lightly but settles once his coughing subsides.  
  
“Sleep, Ciri.”  
  
“You as well.” Her lips find his in the dark and he cherishes the moment they meet. He cups her cheek once he finds it, brushing her hair out of his way and behind her ear. After a few more brief seconds, she pulls away and he weakly chases her lips, making her chuckle against his skin as she rests her head on his chest, arm draping around his waist.  
  
“Sleep, Cahir. Or you’ll be in trouble.”  
  
He smiles.  
  
Then does as he’s told. 

* * *

The bed is empty the next time he wakes up. He places his hand into the empty space that is still warm before he sits up, groaning as he does, all stiff and sore.  
  
“Ciri?” He calls out, weakly.  
  
“I’m just finishing up in the bath!” Her voice calls out from the other room and he relaxes. “Take those two potions on the side table whilst you wait.”  
  
“They look disgusting.”  
  
“Don’t be a whiny baby.” She replies, curt.  
  
With his nose wrinkled, he carefully takes the first potion which is an unappetising grey colour and downs it with two gulps. It doesn’t bring instant relief, much to his disappointment.  
  
He hears various clattering about from Ciri as he finishes the second potion, which was sweeter tasting. He sets the glass on the table before running a hand through his hair, messing it up as Ciri exits the washroom, drying off her hair with a towel.  
  
“How are you feeling?” She asks, taking a cloak from the side of the room and wrapping it around herself.  
  
“Still sore, sadly. But I’m feeling more myself.”  
  
“That’s excellent news.” She states, coming over to his side of the bed. “Shall we get you up and out for that walk?”  
  
“That’d be lovely.” He nods eagerly and she helps him swing his legs over the edge of the bed. Ciri has already obtained his boots for him, and she delicately helps them onto his feet before tying the laces for him as he utters a thank you.  
  
“Here we go.” Ciri offers him her hands and he takes them gladly as he heaves himself up from the bed for the first time. His legs are weak and he stumbles as they give out but he manages to grab onto the bed post and Ciri’s arms are like an anchor around his waist. “Careful…”  
  
“I’m alright.” He assures as he stands up straighter, though one of her arms still remains around his waist. “I need to... Washroom.”  
  
“Ah, right.” Keeping a hold of him the entire, Ciri leads him to the washroom and over to the privy. She lets go of him once she is certain he won’t fall down and stands, looking at him expectantly.  
  
“Ciri, I am not going to use the privy whilst you’re standing there.”  
  
“Why not? It’s nothing I haven’t seen before.”  
  
“Ciri.” He chuckles lightly and she rolls her eyes, taking her leave and shutting the door.  
  
Cahir quickly relieves himself, washing his hands in the small basin afterwards before stumbling over to the door and opening it to find Ciri waiting for him, cloak in hand.  
  
He tries to take it from her to no avail, and she carefully clips it to his shirt, arm going back around his waist as they exit the room. The light from the windows makes him grimace at first but he grows accustomed to it rather quickly. Cahir makes sure to prop some of his weight against the wall as they make their way down the stairs.  
  
It feels like they take at least an hour before they get to the doors that lead into the gardens but Ciri doesn’t complain as she pushes open the door for them.  
  
The floor is covered in thick snow and the cold air clears out his lungs as he takes a deep breath, making his ribs ache. There’s still heavy snowflakes falling as Ciri pulls the hood of her cloak up, mindful of her damp hair.  
  
“It’s beautiful here.” He manages to speak, making Ciri smile from underneath the shadow of her hood.  
  
“Yes, it is.” She agrees, standing on her tiptoes to pull his own cloak hood up.  
  
“You’re roses grow in winter!” He exclaims like an excited child, shuffling over to the shrub in the corner making Ciri panic momentarily as she loses grip on him.  
  
“They’re Grandmother’s favourite. Grows them herself.” Ciri nods, her hand resting on the small of his back as he reaches for one of the stems.  
  
“Would she mind?”  
  
“I won’t tell if you don’t.”  
  
Cahir chuckles at that before delicately pulling one of the blue roses from the bush and handing it to Ciri. “For my lady.”  
  
“Thank you.” She curtsies and he laughs as she takes it gently from his hand, twirling it between her fingers and paying no mind to the thorns. “Cahir?”  
  
He hums, questioning as he walks slowly to gaze at the rest of the snow covered flowers, Ciri’s arm linking with his.  
  
“I really thought the Gods had taken you from me.”  
  
“I know. I’m sorry for worrying you.”  
  
“You don’t need to be sorry,” She squeezes his arm reassuringly, “it just made me realise a few things.”  
  
“Oh?” He says gently though his stomach is turning and he tries to downplay his inquisitiveness by looking at some flowering heathers.  
  
“It made me realise, I do love you.” He turns around quickly to gape at her, almost losing his footing. “You are not Mistle. You’re not going to use me and run off, of that I’m certain now. I’ve been so afraid to say it and I almost lost you because of it.”  
  
“No, no…” He rests his hands on her upper arms as she watches him intently. “You didn’t have to say it for me to know, Ciri. I went to battle because I want to live in peace. With my family and with you.”  
  
“You would have died without ever hearing me say it.”  
  
“It wouldn't have mattered.”  
  
“It matters to me. I’ve come to know you more deeply these months than I ever knew Mistle. I never felt like this with her. So loved. Cherished. I find myself in awe at how it really feels like. You expect nothing from me, you only wish to be with me. I feel warm when I’m around you, you feel like a safe harbour.”  
  
Words fail him. “Ciri, I--”  
  
“I love you, Cahir Mawr Dyffryn aep Ceallach.”  
  
“Say it again.”  
  
“I love yo--” He cuts her off, crushing his lips to hers and she smiles into it, making him feel fuzzy. Cahir cups her face, running his thumbs against the skin of her cheeks and he pulls away slightly when he feels wetness there.  
  
“No more tears, Ciri. I’m yours until you want me no longer.”  
  
She nods, pressing a fleeting kiss to his lips. “Come, we should head inside. It’ll take you until sundown to get up those blasted stairs.”  
  
Cahir chortles before nodding in agreement. Ciri’s arm makes its home around his waist once more as she leads him back inside from the cold and into their room.  
  
He barely makes it to the bed before sleep takes him as its own.  
  


* * *

The curtains are drawn around the bed but it is still slightly light inside when he rolls over onto his opposite side, head resting on Ciri’s stomach who is sat a little upright, book in hand.   
  
“I thought you were sleeping.” She drawls, not looking up from the novel.  
  
“I was.”  
  
She rolls her eyes, hiding her smile behind the covers of her book.  
  
“Ciri…” He whines and she places the book on her chest, fingers tangling sweetly into his hair.  
  
“Mousesack will be coming to check you over soon.” She pauses. “And you know what he said.”  
  
“When have you ever listened to the rules?” He squints up at her and Ciri copies.  
  
“Hush. Sleep for a little while longer.” She presses a kiss to his forehead and he cannot deny her so he snuggles up, arm around her waist as she soothes him back to sleep, running her fingers through his wavy locks. 

* * *

A shuffling to the side of the bed wakes him again and he blinks, eyes getting accustomed to the pitch blackness of the room.  
  
“Did I wake you?”  
  
“It is no bother.” He replies as he feels the bed dip, Ciri getting back on it.  
  
“Mousesack changes your bandages and you don’t wake once but I use the privy and you’re up like a shot.” She chuckles, no malice in her voice.  
  
“I know when you’re not beside me, is all.”  
  
“You’re soft.” She replies, stroking the hair from his face.  
  
“For you? Always.”  
  
Ciri kisses his cheek. “Mousesack said your wounds are healing well. Bed rest and one walk a day for the next week.”  
  
He hums in agreement, the tenderness of her touch lulling him.  
  
“Ciri?”  
  
“Yes?”  
  
“Be with me.”  
  
“Mousesack said--”  
  
“I don’t care.” He rolls over onto his back, seeking her out in the dark. “Be with me. Please.”  
  
He doesn’t need to ask a third time as Ciri’s fingers find the hem of his shirt, lifting it over his head all whilst being mindful of his cuts and bandages. Her hands find his breeches next and he carefully lifts his hips to allow her to pull them off, discarding them at the edge of the bed.  
  
The mattress dips once more as she lifts off whatever fabric she was wearing, she is cold against his thighs as she mounts him, taking him in hand.  
  
“Not so frantic…” He says gently, a hand touching her hips. The same hand travels to cup her face and Ciri presses a kiss to its palm. “Gently. I want to be with _you._ ”  
  
He doesn’t say anything more, Ciri sinking down onto him as they both gasp softly.  
  
She takes him slowly, carefully, lovingly.  
  
He is quite sure he has never known anything like this. He knows this is the way it was always meant to be.  
  
Cahir isn’t sure who loses themselves to their mutual ecstasy first but it doesn’t matter. They are together.

As Ciri curls herself into his side afterwards, sweaty and satisfied, leaving sloppy kisses gently across his bruised skin, he mentally declares himself the luckiest man to ever have lived, died and been resurrected by a kiss. 


	10. Chapter 10

**Notes for the Chapter:**

> And this is the ending for the main story. Short and sweet, just like Cahir would want it. 
> 
> Epilogue will be added in a few days when it's ready. 
> 
> As always, thank you for reading. 🧡

“So,” Ciri begins, flicking her hair over her shoulder as she lies on her front, elbow propping her up. Cahir was still laid on his back, catching his breath - she had taken him twice more during the night and woke him at the first sign of light with her head between his legs, working magic with her mouth. “What happens now?” 

He grunts as he rolls onto his side to face her, his ribs more sore than ever. Perhaps he should have listened to Mousesack’s rules, after all. “I’m not sure…We already had this conversation, didn’t we?

“Yes, sort of. Your sisters were here, though. Little girls should not hear some things.” 

“True.” He agrees, her hand brushing against the skin of his cheek and the stubble that was more present than ever. “I suppose we will have to go through another wedding ceremony back in Nilfgaard. We have different religions, after all.” 

“I forgot about that.” Ciri replies, voice still husky. “Perhaps in the summer? We can travel there with your sisters and I do wish to see Darn Dyffra. I meant that.” 

“It isn’t anything special or grand, I assure you.”

“You grew up there. That makes it special to me.”  
  
“I’m in no way, shape or form, worthy of you and your love, Cirilla.”  
  
She scoffs briefly. “I think you’ll find it has always been the other way around.”  
  
“We should agree to disagree.” He declares, making Ciri laugh lightly.  
  
“Fine, impossible Nilfgaardian.”  
  
“Insatiable Princess.”  
  
Ciri rolls her eyes but leans over to plant a kiss on his lips. He smiles into it, enjoying being with her and the feeling of being loved, finally, for who he is.  
  
“Most importantly, Ciri,” He whispers, their noses still brushing as she pulls away, “I just want to be with you.”  
  
“We’ll have to do some things alone, eventually.” Cahir nods in agreement. “But, I want to be with you, too. As much as possible.”  
  
“You have me, love.” She presses a kiss to his shoulder before he lifts his arm up, allowing her to rest her head on his chest whilst his hand trails up and down her back, leaving goosebumps in its path.  
  
“What of children?”  
  
“I’d be lying if I told you I didn’t want any, Ciri. And as you said the other day, we will have to eventually.”  
  
“I sense a but coming.”  
  
“ _But_ , we’ll only have them when it is a mutual decision and when we’ve been together more than few months. To hell with what the people and the rulers want.”  
  
“Gods, I love you. Your respect and honour will be the death of me.” She smirks, mainly to herself as Cahir rolls his eyes.  
  
“And, on the condition we have a boy, I get to name him.”  
  
“Shove off!” Ciri jerks up and he plants a fake look of surprise on his face. “So he can have eight middle names? In your dreams, Cahir Dyffryn.”  
  
“Like Cirilla Fiona Elen Riannon has much room to talk.” She shoves him lightly and they both dissolve into laughter for a few moments. “I’m going to take a quick wash and then we’ll take that walk for some breakfast? It’ll be served any minute now.”  
  
Cahir nods his head, stretching his legs a little. “Of course. I’ll take those potions. I already had a brisk wash in the early hours. With your help.”  
  
Ciri hums against his lips, kissing him one last time before she rises from the bed. For a change, she doesn’t cover herself up and Cahir has the perfect view as she disappears into the washroom.  
  
It takes a few moments for him to gather the energy to rise from the bed, his body protesting as he does. From the bedside table, he takes both of the potions and down them as quickly as he could, gagging in protest when he swallows the last bit. He hopes he won’t have to take them for much longer.  
  
He’s still shaky getting up and out of their bed but he has mastered the technique of using the room’s furniture to get him over to his chest of clothes that he had yet to empty. Cahir gathers fresh clothes from the trunk and changes into them carefully, holding onto objects when possible.  
  
“Oh, you should have waited for me to help.” Ciri scolds as she exits the bathroom, freshly dressed in those tight riding pants he loves.  
  
“I can dress myself, I assure you.”  
  
Ciri rolls her eyes and walks over anyway, helping him with the last few buttons of his shirt.  
  
“There, all done.” She smiles, leaning up and kissing him so sweetly his head spins. “Let’s go get some breakfast.”  
  
“I hope I’m allowed something other than porridge.”  
  
Ciri laughs at that, taking his hand in her own and leading him downstairs, her arm moving to wrap around his waist as they take the stairs down.  
  
Cahir goes right at the bottom as she goes left. She pulls him back and he looks at her, puzzled.  
  
“Are we not going to the kitchen?”  
  
“No.” She remarks as if he has lost his mind. “You don’t need to eat in there alone anymore. You never did. We’ll go to the hall with everyone else.”  
  
“Oh…” He says as she squeezes his hand reassuringly, leading him to the left corridor and in one of the doors.  
  
The hall is empty for now, a long table in the middle of it that is lined with food which is still steaming hot. His mouth waters. Ciri all but pulls him to the benches, proudly sitting next to him as she passes him a plate and loads it with food: eggs, bacon, sausages, black pudding, mushrooms and toasted bread.

“Do I not get a say in what I’m ea--”  
  
“Nope.” She smiles smugly at him as she gathers her own before sitting down next to him properly, shoulders brushing from their closeness. “Tastes good, hm?”  
  
He nods, finishing off his large mouthful, “Wonderful, actually. So much better than that porridge.” He finishes off another slice of bread before speaking up again. “What are you doing today?”  
  
“I have a fencing lesson later.”  
  
“Fencing?”  
  
She nods, speaking again before finishing her mouthful which makes him laugh.  
  
“Yes, I have to take them now. Grandmother was my age when she started taking them.”  
  
“I’m sure you’ll be just as good if not better than she.”  
  
“Oh, Cahir. Flattery gets you everywhere.” She chuckles, pressing a kiss to his cheek before going back to her plate.  
  
The wooden door creaks open and there’s numerous footsteps pounding on the floor. Cahir manages to turn around as some arms wrap around his neck.  
  
“You made it for breakfast!” Erynn declares excitedly before going to sit opposite him, grabbing her plate, eyes completely focused on the breakfast. Food was important in the Dyffryn family.  
  
Feena enters the room next, also giving Cahir a hug and extending one to Ciri before sitting beside her new friend.  
  
Mousesack is the last to enter and he grabs a plate before sitting next to Erynn, much to her delight.

“It is nice to see you up and out of bed, Cahir.” He states and Cahir nods, flashing a small smile.  
  
“I wouldn’t be here if not for your outstanding care, Mousesack.”  
  
“Oh, please. I don’t take being complimented too well.” The druid scratches behind his ear, looking down at the table.  
  
“You and Cahir will get along in that aspect, then.” Ciri adds and he nudges her in the side as she laughs to herself.  
  
“Are you allowed out all the time, Cahir? I want to play in the snow.” Feena asks, gently and Ciri pats the girl’s back.  
  
“Not today, I don’t think, little one.” He looks discreetly over to Mousesack who nods his head. “I’m still on bedrest but, tomorrow we can, if that’s alright?”  
  
“Yes!” Feena all but squeals in delight.  
  
“Can I play tomorrow, Ser Mousesack?” Erynn asks and he nods, smiling as he always is.  
  
“Of course! We can forsake lessons for one day, I should think.”  
  
Cahir smiles at his sister’s excitement, finishing off his breakfast as the door opens again.  
  
“Cahir, you’re up!” Eist’s voice booms just as Cahir turns around to see the Skelliger beaming.  
  
“Yes, yes.” Cahir grins back at him as the King gives him a rather large smack on the back, forgetting all about injury.  
  
“Thank you, for getting that arrow out of my leg, by the way.”  
  
“How is it?”  
  
“A little sore but I’m of tough blood.”  
  
“You wouldn’t think so with all the complaining you do.” Calanthe drawls as she takes a seat near to Mousesack, leaving room for Eist to sit between them, which he does, filling his plate.  
  
Eist rolls his eyes at Calanthe and she sends one of her sour looks in his direction.  
  
Marital bliss, Cahir decides.  
  
“Thank you, Cahir.” Calanthe beckons his attention and Cahir wearily looks up at her. “For everything you did on the battlefield. I am not one to compliment of--”  
  
“Don’t I know it.” Eist remarks, making Mousesack chuckle into his food.  
  
Calanthe glares in both of their directions and the Skelliger men along with Ciri snigger to themselves but Calanthe has a smile on her face, either way.  
  
“As I was saying. Thank you. For helping us keep Cintra and by extension, Ciri safe.”  
  
“It was my honour, your Majesty.”  
  
“Calanthe will do fine from now on.” Cahir’s eyes rise up to meet the Queen’s slowly, in shock. He casts a quick look at Ciri who is also staring at her grandmother.  
  
“Truly?”  
  
“Yes. Try not to pass out over it.” She rolls her eyes but is smiling, all the same.  
  
In a rare moment of boldness, Cahir clears his throat before speaking again, “Does that mean I can call you mother?”  
  
Ciri and Eist laugh out loud as Calanthe looks up from her plate, mild but playful annoyance on her face. “Certainly not.” She points her fork in Cahir’s direction, “Do not push your luck. You’re still a Nilfgaardian.”  
  
The table dissolves into laughter.  
  
Cahir’s heart thumps in his chest as Ciri brings her arm around his waist, stroking the bare skin under his shirt as she engages in conversation with his sisters.  
  
Calanthe is making idle small talk with Mousesack, Eist every so often butting in, much to her annoyance.  
  
The quietness doesn’t bother him, for once. He feels safe here and loved. 

A part of the family. 

Finally.  
  
He never wants that to change.


	11. Epilogue

**Notes for the Chapter:**

> 🧡

**_seven years later_ ** **_  
_ ** **_  
  
_ **

“Cerys is definitely going to kill us,” the young steward mumbles as he leads him up the long path to the Kaer Trolde citadel. Fenrir had been taken from him a while back and his legs were starting to feel the pressure of the incline. The awful cold didn’t help either - each winter he spends in Skellige, he realises Ciri was correct and their snow was nothing compared to the one back in Cintra.    
  
“Oh, please.” Cahir begins, rubbing his hands together and blowing on them, “Your Queen isn’t so bad.”   
  
“I’ve only been here a few months.”   
  
“Oh, maybe she will kill you then.” He remarks, met with a nervous look over the shoulder from the young steward as they finally make it into the castle.    
  
The hum of music from the banquet hall is fiercely loud already and Cahir is eager to get inside, away from the biting frost. He utters a quick thank you to the young steward who looks eager to run off and hide away from Cerys’ wrath. 

Quickly, he opens the door leading to the main room and is met with the roar of laughter, music and warmth. People of Skellige knew how to throw a good feast, that was certain. His eyes find Mousesack first, who is sitting on one of the main banquet tables, talking quietly with Crach an Craite. The Druid finds his gaze and offers a small wave which Cahir returns, gladly. Crach doesn’t offer the same reception but politely bows his head.    
  
Seven years of peace and sometimes Cahir still felt like an unwanted outcast in Skellige. Cerys and Hjalmar were kind, respectful, the best and worst of their father. Above all, they were Ciri’s friends and if she was happy, they were accepting of that. Of course, now that Cerys was Queen of the Isles since Eist’s brother had passed, she was mindful and tactical that keeping an alliance with Cintra was important to the Isles. Nilfgaard as a trade partner too was simply an added bonus.    
  
Cahir would never forget the first time he met Cerys, just a few months after her coronation. She was as fierce as Ciri had made out, he knew as much when she all but threatened to castrate him in the instance that he happened to hurt Ciri. It took a lot of reassuring from them both for her to calm down, her cheeks returning to their pale colour instead of matching the fiery red of her hair. Ciri had not said all too much, allowing him to take the onslaught of warnings. It piqued his curiosity and so he asked when they had curled up together in bed that night, her fingers tracing impossible patterns onto his chest - it was then and only then that Ciri had taken delight in informing that Cerys had been a past lover of hers. It explained everything and he cherished still to this day how they had erupted into laughter together, Ciri remarking how she loved his acceptance of her past.    
  
A glass smashing to his left jerks him back to present, some rowdy lord’s sons arguing over who killed a manticore last week. Cahir focuses his gaze on the floor as he walks further in, trying to find someone he knew that was not currently engaged in conversation.    
  
Opportunity finds him as a pair of arms wrap around his knees with a huff of air blowing out of their lungs at the impact.    
  
“Found you!”    
  
“You have!” Cahir grins at the mass of black hair below him before bending and bringing them into his arms.    
  
“I missed you, Papa.”    
  
“I missed you too, en’ca minne.” He plants a kiss on his daughter’s cheek as she gets comfortable in his embrace, feet dangling near his waist.    
  
“Guess what?” She asks, moving her fringe from her eyes and sniffing up in an undignified manner that reminds him all too well of Ciri.    
  
“What? You didn’t kill an ice giant did you?” He replies, avoiding dancing women and men as he travels to a quieter area of the hall.    
  
“No!” She laughs, clinging onto his shoulder, “I climbed the tree in the courtyard!”    
  
“Delya, I hope you were careful.” Cahir tries his best to sound stern but he can’t help the laughter that leaks into his voice. “Does your mother know of this accomplishment?”    
  
“Yes, she said I could!”    
  
“Cordelya Riannon, I know you’re lying to me.” He manages with a straight face before abruptly ticking his daughter’s side, making her squirm in his arms and try to make her way back to the floor. Cahir relents after a short while, placing Cordelya back on the floor but keeping a hold of her hands as she stands on his booted feet to give herself more height.    
  
“Papa, can I go play with Llewyn some more before bedtime?”   
  
“Ah, you would have gotten away with staying up a bit later if you hadn’t reminded me of the time, rascal.” She grins proudly at that - yes, definitely like Ciri. “Hjalmar’s boy? Yes, of course. Where’s your mother, though?”   
  
“She was with Auntie Cerys the last time I saw!” Cordeyla manages to spit out before bouncing off into the mass of people. Cahir keeps an eye on her, watching as she hops cheekily over to a ginger haired boy who could only be Llewyn. Judging by the delight on their faces, they were having a good time amongst the bunch of adults. He spends a moment of adoration gazing at his girl before navigating the crowd for just a hint of ashen hair. 

It takes a while but he finally finds it, mingling in amongst another rowdy group of heads. As Cordelya promised, she was standing in a corner, talking lowly with Cerys, goblets in hand. Seven years of marriage and he still got a fluttering in his stomach at the sight of her.    
  
Carefully, he touches Ciri’s elbow lightly, catching her attention. As she turns her head, her features explode into a picture of contagious joy that makes his heart soar.    
  
“You’re back!” She exclaims, placing her goblet on the table next to her, arm going around his waist.    
  
“What a coincidence, we were just speaking of you.” Cerys puts in and Cahir rolls his eyes at the Queen, smiling.    
  
“Good things only, I hope, your highness.” Cahir remarks back to her, Sparrowhawk smiling the entire time.    
  
“Oh, aye. Only the best for you.” She pauses, “And it’s Cerys, Cahir. How many times?”    
  
“Ignore her.” Ciri chuckles, her hand running up and down his back.    
  
“I’ll leave you both to catch up and we’ll talk in the morning?” Cerys poses the question to the pair who both nod in agreement. “And it is good to see you made it back alive, Nilfgaardian.” Cerys winks slyly at Ciri before she stalks off, heading in the direction of her brother who is attempting to lift a stool with someone currently still sitting on it.    
  
No sooner had the Sparrowhawk left, Ciri’s arms are around his neck, capturing his lips in a tender kiss. Lovesick as ever, he smiles into it, a hand coming up to cup her cheek, not minding they were in a crowd of people.    
  
“I can just hear Calanthe’s voice in my ear…” He whispers as they pull back.    
  
Ciri snorts, mimicking her Grandmother’s voice, “Would you put each other down? You’ve only been gone a month!”   
  
They both dissolve into a brief bout of laughter, brushing their noses together.    
  
“I have missed you, love.”    
  
“I missed you too.” Ciri presses a kiss to his lips briefly before leading him to sit on the table beside them. “How was Erynn’s ceremony?”    
  
“It went wonderful,” Cahir nods, smiling proudly to himself as Ciri pushes a goblet of wine in his direction. “Erynn is on the path to a bright future, I hope. Putting all what she learned with Mousesack and at the Academy to good use.”    
  
“I’m happy for her.” Ciri takes his hand in her own, “Did you let your family know I was sorry I couldn’t make it?”    


“Yes, of course.” Cahir squeezes her hand reassuringly. “They were understanding and I think they were rather thankful for less guests at Darn Dyffra. Brianna and her little ones, Dheran and his soon to be wife--”   
  
“Gods, I almost forgot about that! When are they to be wed?”   
  
“Oh, not for several months. Sometime after Delya turns five.”    
  
“I hope I feel well enough to travel by sea when the time comes.”   
  
“How are you feeling now, my love?” Cahir places a kiss on her knuckles and she smiles softly, looking down at the table to disguise perhaps a small blush.    
  
“Better for having you back here.” She reassures as he downs the wine in the goblet in one mouthful, alcohol immediately going to his head, “Mousesack is going to check me over in the morning.”   
  
“It’s nothing serious, I hope?” He can’t help himself and leans forward, his protective instincts kicking in. They were always there when it came to Ciri but had only gotten worse since the birth of their daughter.    
  
She chuckles a bit, resting a hand on his knee, “I would have told you by now if it was.”    
  
Cahir nods, allowing the conversation to come to a brief but natural end. Ciri’s company was more than enough for the time being and he had missed her the two months he had been away in Nilfgaard, most of which had been spent travelling by sea.    
  
“Delya is enjoying herself.” Ciri remarks after a short while and Cahir follows her gaze to what had now become a dancefloor, watching as Cordelya, Llewyn and two more children were dancing around in a large circle, linked hand in hand.    
  
“Making the most of it before we retire for the night.”    
  
“Oh, we are certainly retiring for the night.” He looks at her and she wiggles her eyebrows suggestively, heat rising on his cheeks.    
  
“May I have a dance first?” 

“Of course.” She smiles, standing up and offering her hands to him which he accepts.    
  
Ciri all but pulls him into the center of the floor, not so far away from the dancing children and he takes her hand, spinning her around slowly much to her amusement. He kisses her as Ciri wraps her arms around his neck, his hands resting on her waist as they move in slow, circular movements.    
  
“I love you.” He says, for her ears only.    
  
“I love you, too.” Ciri replies, her eyes never leaving him as she does. Sometimes, he still couldn’t believe how lucky he was. “You know what I miss?”   
  
Cahir shakes his head and hums, “No but please, tell me.”    
  
“The first winter we came here, a year after the battle.” She speaks softly, quietly and he ignores the flash of pain he gets in his stomach, “How we made acquaintances with the secluded corners, abandoned rooms in Kaer Trolde…”    
  
“Oh, I miss them too. But I’m still awfully fond of the memories.” Ciri chuckles at that before he spins her around once more, delicately when she was anything but.    
  
“Providing an heir was an excellent excuse.” She laughs as she speaks, moving closer to him so that their middles were pressed together impossibly close as they slowed in time to the music.    
  
“One of your best excuses yet, Ciri.” Cahir laughs lightly and he feels every vibration from it in his chest. “How has Delya been here?”    
  
“Wonderful. So much better behaved than I was at that age.” She pauses whilst she waits for him to finish chuckling, “I worry about her future sometimes.”   
  
“Because she’s a girl?”   
  
“Exactly that.” A wistful sigh leaves Ciri’s lips causing his heart to twinge.    
  
“She will be fine. We’ll do our best for her. We’re good parents, Ciri.” He kisses her forehead reassuringly.    
  
“I know that but you know Cintra’s laws. She deserves to rule just as Grandmother does and just as I will.”    
  
“Then we find her a perfect match. Besides, I think she is rather fond of little Llewyn already.” Ciri looks at him and he gestures to the side of them with a discreet jerk of his head. Cordelya and Llewyn are now sitting against one of the pillars in the room, babbling away to each other about something or other.   
  
Ciri chuckles at the sight. “Skellige men are the best kind of men, in my experience.” He narrows his eyes at that. She pays no mind. “I’m not sure I could fully agree to an arranged marriage for her. I’d like for her to choose, if she can.”   
  
“So would I. But, I must add that it worked out for us, in the end. I’m happier with you than I would have been with any other woman, I can guarantee.”    
  
“You’re definitely correct on both of your points there.” Ciri flashes that cheeky smirk he loved so much before kissing him as they spin slowly.    
  
Ciri pulls away after what feels like an hour in each other’s embrace, he wants nothing more than to protest, to stay in her arms for the remainder of the night but knows they’re not afforded such opportunities anymore. At least, not when Grandpa Eist wasn’t around to read a bedtime story.    
  
Cahir smiles as he watches Ciri call for their daughter who quickly says goodbye to her new friends and takes her mother’s hand. His heart swells to impossible lengths as he watches the two of them, talking amongst the crowd.    
  
It takes a few minutes before Ciri calls his attention, wiggling her fingers in his direction, beckoning him to take her hand which he does. Cordelya bounds off ahead of them, into the quieter hall that leads up to the towers of Kaer Trolde where their rooms are, like every year. 

They walk in a comfortable silence for the most part, Cordelya babbling excitedly every now and then about what she is going to do with her day tomorrow. Her independence at her young age astounds him, though he has good reason to believe Ciri was exactly the same, perhaps a little more bratty and demanding.    
  
“Will you get her ready whilst I change out of this awful dress?” Ciri asks as they reach the door to Cordelya’s room, gesturing to her attire.   
  
“Of course,” Cahir nods as Cordelya grabs his hand, “though I must say, red is certainly your colour.”    
  
Ciri rolls her eyes before going into the neighbouring room and Cordelya yanks on his hand, gaining his attention.    
  
“Come on, Papa.”    
  
“When did you get so demanding and eager to get into bed?” He asks, opening the door for her before they both slip inside. It isn’t anything overly special, nothing compared to the one she has back in Cintra, or the one at their summer home in Vicovaro.    
  
Cahir is thankful he doesn’t need to force her into getting dressed for bed, she does so willingly and by herself, growing up far too quickly for his liking. “Hey,” He catches Cordelya’s attention as she grabs a stuffed toy from the side of her bed - a dragon, by the looks of it, “Just because you skipped a bath tonight doesn’t mean you won’t have one in morning.”   
  
“I don’t stink!” She declares, climbing onto her bed with a small grunt of effort. Once she’s settled, Cahir brings the sheet and bedspread and tucks her in, placing a kiss on her forehead.    
  
“Are you and Ser Dragon comfortable?” She nods as he kneels beside the bed. There’s a clicking of the door as Ciri enters, robe wound tightly around herself, hair falling in loose waves.

“Hello, Princess.” Ciri murmurs, standing beside Cahir, one hand on his shoulder.    
  
“Mama, can I have a bedtime story?”    
  
Ciri hums, moving to sit on the edge of her bed whilst Cahir makes himself more comfortable on the floor. Cordeyla hangs her hand out of the bed for him to take and he does, pressing a kiss to it. “I don’t see why not.”    
  
“Which one do you want, en’ca minne?” Cahir asks.    
  
“Any!”    
  
“Shall I tell you the one about how your Papa fainted when you were born?”    
  
“I most certainly did not faint.”    
  
Cordelya giggles, snuggling her dragon to her chin. “I like that one, Mama.” 

Ciri looks entirely too enthusiastic as she prepares, angling herself so that she can see Cordelya as they talk.    


“Obviously because of custom, he couldn’t come into the birth room. Grandmother told me that he was pacing around the banquet hall like an absolute madman, Grandpa Eist being no comfort.”    
  
“That was, in fact, true.” Cahir adds.    
  
“You were born some time after the sun had set, crying and screaming the entire time. A true sign of your blood.” Ciri continues and Cahir can feel himself getting teary eyed. The fool. “Once you and I were cleaned up, your Papa was finally allowed to come see you.”

“I was up those blasted stairs so quickly that I almost fell down them all.”    
  
“Oh no!” Cordeyla says, hiding her giggling.    
  
“So he comes into the room, sees you in my arms and, as he claims, his knees were weak from running up the stairs.” Ciri pauses to roll her eyes in his direction, “Next thing I knew, he was on the floor!”    
  
Both Cordelya and Ciri burst out into laughter and now it is Cahir’s turn to roll his eyes as he stands up, tucking Delya in where she had moved the coverings from laughing and wriggling. “It isn’t that funny.”    
  
“Oh, it was.” Ciri manages to get out, taking Cahir’s hand as she stands up off the bed.    
  
“It is funny, Papa.”    
  
“You’re certainly your mother’s daughter, little one.” Cahir takes a moment to smile at them both, “How did I get so lucky to have you two, hm?”    
  
“Lucky indeed.” Ciri murmurs, he takes a look over to her, eyes misty and he finds hers are the same. He wraps an arm around her waist, bringing her closer to him before pressing a kiss to her cheek.    
  
“Can we come back here for our birthday, Mama?” Cordelya asks, finally yawning despite her attempts to stifle it.    
  
“Skellige? On Belleteyn? I don’t think so, love. Maybe before or after.” Ciri replies, kissing their daughter’s head. “Now, go to sleep. We have a long day tomorrow.”    
  
“Goodnight, Mama. Dearme, Papa.”    
  
“Dearme, little love.” Cahir replies, kissing her head once more before Ciri leads them both out of the room, shutting the door quietly behind her.    
  
“I’m not looking forward to when she is older and you both have conversations in Nilfgaardian. I’ll be worried you’re plotting against me.” Ciri speaks quietly as he brings his arm around her again, walking to their room in each other’s embrace.    
  
“Plot against you? Never, my love.” He kisses the side of her head in reassurance. “I did offer to teach you.”    
  
“Oh, I can’t be doing with that nonsense.” She chuckles as he shakes his head, smiling. He reaches around her side to open the door to their room which is almost identical to Cordelya’s, except their bed is bigger and they have a fireplace.    
  
Cahir sheds his cloak and boots, followed by his breeches and he changes his shirt into a more loose one before going to the bed where Ciri awaits and climbing on it.    
  
“You’re so elegant.” She remarks, making him laugh as he flops down beside her, staring at the canopy above their bed.    
  
“Only the best for you, my love.” He manages to whisper as he rolls onto his side, Ciri’s arm wrapping around his waist and her lips pressing a line of soft kisses to his shoulder.    
  
“Tired, are we?”    
  
“A little.” He nods, “It took a while to get back here for tonight.”    
  
“I’m glad you did. I missed you something awful.” Her voice is muffled against his shoulder as she nuzzles into the crook but it doesn’t stop the warmth flooding through him like small, creeping vines.    
  
“Not as much as I missed you. Never as much.” He answers her, turning his head to plant a kiss on her lips gently. Ciri smiles into it before she resumes her position of snuggling.    
  
“Sleep, Cahir. I’ll have my way with you in the morning.”    
  
They both laugh for a moment before he nods, relenting. Her arm is wrapped tightly around his waist and he brings his hand up to entwine with hers.    
  
“I love you, Cirilla.”    
  
“Not as much as I love you. Never as much.” She murmurs sleepily against the skin of his neck, echoing his words from earlier.    
  
Cahir feels himself falling to the lull of sleep and before the dark can take him fully, he wishes, once again, that it could always be exactly like this. 


End file.
